In the Telling...

- jan-u-wine
Almost
I mistook it
for an ill-fated betylle,
life ended by an unforeseen
journey into a fellow wanderer's pack....

almost, I imagined the curled soft-sharpness
close-caged by my searching fingers

flying green-crystal winged beneath
a hot sun.

Oh.

A curved saw-toothed leaf,
dried and smelling of time

and distance

lies within my hand.

Grey rock and lonely

echoes
of Ages which were
and yet are no more

rise
like fog
into my mind.

Hollin.

Silent now,
like the delf beyond,

bereft, even, of the small

songs of birds,
or the sweet whisper of water playing on stone....

More than an age since bright berries

shone
waxen-red against jagged-toothed green,

more than an age since Elven voices

sang
and wove magik beneath a waning crescent...

more than an age since Elven forges

winked
fire-fly eyes within the cave of night.


In my imagining,  
like a dreme,
the doors

open before me,
the Trees twined in starlight,
limned by pale moon....

Fair Hollin,
all of your tale I may hold within
the shelter of my hand,

all of your wonder,

all of your woe,
written without words
on this leaf'd parchment of green.

Memory calls forth the story,
memory,

softened, (as memory must be)
by time's
smoothing hand.

There was no need then,
for a watch upon the doors,

no,
nor for doors, either,
not really.

Narvi and Celebrimbor wrought them together,
Dwarf hammer and Elven tappet weaving ithildin

and friendship
beneath the quiet stars.

Of Narvi
no more is known.

Just his name remains,
graven upon  doors which may ne'er open again,

not even to the voice of
Friend.*

And of his friend, Lord of the Mirdain,
pupil and teacher to seeming-fair Annatar,
this much is known:

Air
Fire
Water

he wrought,
weaving star-song to the making.

And died,
within the Circle of the World,

that Dark should not consume
what yet  remained
of Light.**

Mine is only but a word
in the fullness of this tale,

only a single breath in all the winds of time,

only
one life

twined, by this,
to all those who went before,

all that may come after.


My thumb follows the branching veins
of the leaf.

I think on the word-smith of the doors.

My Lord, your servant trusts he acquitted himself
well.
____________________________________________

*in fact, Moria was re-opened, though long after
Frodo's departure from Middle Earth.  

**Celebrimbor was the primary maker of the Rings of Power,
save the One.  Legend has it that he was tortured by
Sauron to reveal their whereabouts.  He died from his
torment without the Dark Lord learning where the Elven
rings were concealed.