These Curls

- Elvellon Ringsbane
Frodo speaks to Sam...

These curls
raven locks once stirred by the fingers
of the western breezes.
Now swept back from this pale brow
by the cruel gales of the East.
Limp they hang upon this forehead,
soaked by the chill mists that rise
from the pools of death.
Heated by the fierce glance
of the burning sun.
Touched by the faint glimmer
of the distant moon.
They will rest in your lap
when all is over.

These eyes
depthless wells of sapphire,
gazed once upon the emerald hills.
Sight now blurred by ashes and dust
they look upon desolation.
Barren stone
blackened by the flames of destruction.
Stagnant water
filled with the faces of the dead.
Jagged peaks
stained scarlet by the wrath of Mordor.
The dazzling glare
of the red sun.
The fitful rays
of the pale moon.
All will fade.
Lost in the wheel of fire.
Not even your beloved face
will be known.

These hands
once felt the cool touch of free earth.
Scarred now and broken
by the cruel teeth of unyielding stone.
Plunged into the pits of death
they grope in vain.
Soiled by the filth
of evil lands.
Dried by the fiery breath
of desert winds.
Cold even under the warmth
of the noon sun.
Pale and transparent in the faint light
of the fading moon.
They feel only the perfect circle
of the One,
seek only for its touch.
You will hold them
at the end.

These feet
tread once the dewy grass of home.
Now far they wander
on paths unknown.
Cut by the claws of rock.
Bearing me through the horror
of the abode of the dead.
Over desolate lands
through untold perils
they must carry the weight
of the burden.
Seeking a way during the hours
of darkness
unaided by light of sun or moon.
They must find a path
to the fire.
You will carry me
when they fail.

This heart
once happy and free.
Will it endure the terror of night?
How far in this unyielding dark
will it survive?
The icy grasp of death
would seize it.
Oppressed by the evil
that surrounds it.
No sight of green
to ease the burden.
No hope of returning
to peace.
If it fails nothing will be left
to reflect the last rising
of the sun
or behold the final sinking
of the moon.
Always upon it
rests our doom.
How long
until it is no longer
my own?
You will bear our fate
though your own heart should break.
The Shadow cannot bring you
to despair.