Alone with the cold

Miranda - The Tempest, by John William Waterhouse (1916)

Alone with the cold,

Alone with the tides of time,

I whisper to the old

Deep past of mine.

It sank in the years

Beyond the edge of mortality,

Taking dreams, tears and fears

And their own reality.

Will it come back to learn

What it hasn't learnt before?

Will it be able to discern

The lost way to the shore?

The waves which bring the future
Are uncertain but they unfold
Unknown changes that can nurture
The old past I still hold.

Hurad Duruvan