A Comfort that Word was to Me: Sammath Naur

- jan-u-wine

Master

A comfort that word was to me,

a telling, inside its small framework
that all was right,

all ordered and safe within
the very meaning of it.

My Master is not here, now,
even though
 
his eyes look to mine
a final time.
 
There is sorrow
there,
 
sorrow,
 
dying
determination.
 
And
 
'’farewell’.
 
As loud and final as if his tongue had formed the word,
I hear it echo between us,
 
feel it like the vanishing beat of distant wings.
 
And then he is gone,
 
taken,
 
though his body still stands before me,
mouth twisting with words,
 
eyes mocking and lit by flame.
 
Oh, master,
 
my
master.
 
The Quest is ended.
 
 
Oh,

Frodo.