The Bridge of Khazad-Dum

Droom, droom, droom
Drums, beating in the depths
speeding hearts, spurring feet.
We fly, engulfed in sound,
those drums
that conjure fear, confound thought
but cannot disguise
the harsh cries, the jubilant screeches,
of foul creatures
whose pleasure only is to destroy.
They are coming, coming
armour clashing
arrows flying
red eyes like hot coals.
Orcs.
We race before them.

And now new devilry,
Durin’s Bane, Melkor’s spawn,
demon, dwelling deep in Barazinbar
with streaming mane of fire,
all other sound encompassing.
Ai, Ai, he comes,
his power beyond our strength.
We flee on feet of fear
to the bridge, to the bridge.

Olorin, on Durin’s Bridge
stops to face shadow and fire
though weary, wields the flame of Anor
stands firm against fire.
A blinding sheet of white flame
and stone breaks.
Fire and shadow plunge-
its whip, the last to fall, lashes upward
and he is gone.

Doom, doom, doom.
Te drum-beats roll behind, slowly,
mournful as we run, weeping,
weeping to the Gate
of Khazad-Dum.

- lilywillow