The Dew of the Past

by Feb 8, 2003Poetry

Just a quick note before I start : a wyrd is someone’s inescapable fate, their eventual destiny. Please leave comments, even if only to criticize!

The Dew of the Past

So long ago, so far away
your wyrd took you beyond my reach
as the tears fall strong and steady.

I sit here alone in the forest,
thinking of what once was,
what I once had
and what I would give to have again.
The past,
near of far, far or near
always just a memory.

A memory,
from when the kiss of icy mithril,
like a knife of freezing ice,
took you from my arms
and into those of death so cold.

Do you feel instead
the deadly stillness of the grave?
Do you hear
life and laughter?
No longer yours,
though you yearn for them.

I sit here
alone for so long.
Do you see the woodland beauty surrounding your grave?
The mallorn trees grow tall and proud
as the seasons come and go, like the falling of leaves in autumn.

and as unstoppable as the tides,
the song of the wind
and the stars flickering like frosty moonlight.

So many aeons
since I heard you laugh, sing, weep,
it seems so far away.

The bitter sweet wine of time,
contained in the golden chalice of death,
fair seeming yet poisonous
to those who desire eternity.
But you welcomed change,
as you welcomed all.

Yet millenia later,
by your grave I still sit
for I never tasted time.
Or rather, I drank from a different chalice.
That of elven life
and tears so bold.

As the wind whips my silver hair in my face,
the dew of the past rinses clean
the emerald sorrow of my eyes.

The great mallorn tree
you desired so
remains unconquered.
I rise and swiftly reach the top,
no pain to hold me back now.

I’ve accepted you’re gone,
though the sorrow still remains.
Through so many years, it has shadowed me faithfully.
Everyone I meet says “can’t you see it’s time to move on?”
All I can say is “can’t you see I’ve already moved on?”

For it takes time to heal,
as with all wounds.
And with healing comes acceptance,
knowledge of what has been lost
and what there is to live for.

If you can see stars going supernova,
or shooting across the sky
like an aurora of light
but you can’t tell the difference
between the death and the dance
you’ve never walked the edge,
never truly lived.


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