It
is finely crafted, 'tis said.....
finely crafted.
Even so,
I shall not wear it again,
shall not
ever
raise my hand
against
another living
thing.
The beauty of Elvish
spills
like runnelled water,
down the face of the blade,
rests its silvered flowers
upon my dishonored
hand.
Oh.
It pains me now,
pains me to look
upon it
and remember
how beautiful I once
thought
it was.
It is beautiful,
still.
Perhaps
it is only I
who have changed.
The
crafting
of a
Ring-bearer....
the
fine
forging of one
who
might bear such a burden....
the
bitter mettle which
broke
in
twain at the last,
running liquid with fear
and
fury....
Please.
I do not wish to remember this
anymore,
I do not wish to see the red of
angry flame
rising
to meet the crimson of my own
blood,
I do not wish to remember
the creature
rendered by desire,
torn
until I could not tell
which
of us had gone into the fire.
I only know
I wished for it to be me.
So bright.
So beautiful.
So finely crafted.
Even as you, fair blade of the West…..
even
as I.
