Another year,
Another turn around the sun,
The seasons change,
Yet everything remains the same.
Winter releases its icy grip,
And yet my heart is still cold.
The Earth renews itself,
And so do I
Though not by my own choice.

I feel so tired.

I do not remember
The gentle spring of my life,
Only the heat of summer.
Its fire in my soul
And the harvest of blood
On the cutting edge of my blade.
So long ago,
So far away.

I feel so old.

I’ve lived so many lives
I don’t remember who I am:
Murderer or healer?
Barbarian or scholar?
Where do I search for my lost self
In the past? I become lost there.
In the future? I have no faith to see it.
I sacrificed life in favour of survival.

I feel so empty.

I armour my heart
In bands of cynicism.
I hide my soul
In layers of practicality.
In a thousand years
Only one person
Made me feel
And now she is gone.

I feel so alone.

They call me the Eldest
They look to me for answers.
I have seen so much,
So much I want to forget.
I have done so much,
So much that I regret.
Is it too late
For me to change?

I feel—could that be… hope?