Anniversary (March 13, 1420, S.R.)

- jan-u-wine

I tell
myself
I am
not
afraid.
 
It will
be worse
If I
am afraid.
*   *   *   *
 
It knows...
 
It knows
my fear.
 
It uses it.
 
But....
how well
may I
hide
from something
which lives
within me?
 
Why....
 
why
does it yet
live
within me?
 
And, suddenly,
the World
turns.....
 
with a rushing,
as of wind,
a rippling,
angry fire-storm
of sound,
I am taken.
 
The Moon,
caught in tree's
upswept arms,
is the last
Light
I see.
 
A round
of gold
replaces the
casement's
silver'd circle.
 
No.
 
Please,
no.

**************
 
Darkness.
 
Guttering torches.
 
Hisses of terrible
laughter.
 
Heat,
sickening
dizzy heat
like fire
down the length
of my throat,
knotting...
twisting.....
 
 
Hands...
 
hands and
evil voices,
foul breath
touching
my skin....
 
my very skin....
 
my 
skin.
 
Shame.
Fear.
 
Anger.
 
My hand,
without will,
searches
desperately:
 
I will
reveal
to them
what
they  do not
wish
to see.
 
There is
nothing
about my neck.
 
No thing...
except
a blank
scar,
aching with
need.
 
They have
taken
It
already.
 
No....
 
the still voice
urging
me
pushes at my mind:
 
they cannot
have....
 
they
can not
have
taken It,
 
for then I should
be dead.
 
Where, then?
 
Who?
 
The World
turns
yet again.

***************
 
Somehow,
a voice
calls me
within the realm
of this evil dream...
  
 
I struggle....
 
I cannot  see…..

I cannot  see the
one
calling me through
my own terror….

I cannot……

*******************************
 
 
They...
 
they want....
 
they
want
It.
 
Wild laughter
sings
its madness
in the prison
of my mind:
 
Not half as much as
I....
 
I can no longer
speak
to answer them.
 
Elbereth...
 
Oh,
Elbereth,
give me peace.
 
An upswept
arm,
shadow'd red
upon the wall,
is my last memory
in this darkness.
 
Elbereth.....
*   *   *   *   *   *   *
 
Light.
 
Song.
 
Song?
 
Yes.
 
Elves.
 
Someone
is
singing
of
Elves
and
the Western Lands.
 
Sam.
 
Oh, Sam.
 
Where
are you...
 
have you
come
to show me
the stars
that bloom
in that sky?
 
Please, Sam.
 
I must see
the Light
falling
soft
upon
the  Shore.
*   *   *   * 

This time,
there  is no
hand,
no arms
to keep
the Darkness from me,
no friend
singing
and
searching
in far-off night.

*   *   *   *   *   *
Silver'd light,
softened by rain,
falls across the bed.

I look about:.

It is March 14.

I am Home.
It is the Spring of our hope,


I close my eyes.

In the silence that echoes
within,
I cannot  see another Spring.

Like my own heart-beat,
the gift of the Evenstar
lies warm against my throat. 

I tell myself I am not
afraid.