The tides usher the same waves

Resounding old news:

Blood, death, slavery

To hatred.

Wrath, fear, envy.

The cold tides rend the soles of my feet,

They tear at the men and women on the bank,

It's cold.

It feels like defeat.

Can't move; cold.

Is there something more?

A respite

A kite pressed against the bright sky

Echoing the Bright Star.

Something more:

Virtue, life, love

To all.

Patience, bravery, generosity.

The water never seemed so cold

Or the sky so bright.