Unseeing Stone

- jan-u-wine
These were his  books,
his city,
his prideful duty,
his very life.
He might have taken his ease
in this courtyard,
or gazed with fatal despair
from the barr'd window whose
blank eye looks ever East.
I did not know him,
this Man whose heart failed,
like many another,
whose mind
bled out
its reason,
The book,
found beside his final bed,
falls open within my hand,
its leaf well-worn with accustomed use.
The tale of long-drowned Numenor
bides there,
the line of Kings turned to dust by the Ages
running like the endless Anduin.....
In sorrow, I note the strking of Isildur's name
(and heirs)
from their roll.
Silver trumpets sound a happy call this day.
The Tower gleams like pearl, indeed,
beneath a hopeful sun.
The Tree blossoms anew.
A King has returned to Gondor.
Within me, there is a certain joy,
within me,
a certain silence....
I know this Man.
This  man,
the imprint of his prideful hands
held, for all time,
burnt with and by
that with which he saw,
at all.