DarkElf leaves the Mansions of Mandos

The wide halls are cool and quiet
Full of light and yet somber
A wind come through the deep windows
Filling the tapestries like sails
The figures threaded within stir
As if to enact their stories
Vairë's clever needle sings unending

I look close at those webs
See the history there captured
I can almost see my own shadow
Wandering amid the rusty yarns
But there is a hanging I do not understand
I recall nothing of the things recorded there
The threads are loose, and they shift and change
My eye cannot remember the tale
And when I return to see
The story has been altered

I bring my questions to the Lady Vairë
She speaks while her hands are busy, sewing,
"These are the times not yet past
The ending of the world that is mutable
We saw not the whole of the vision our Father gave us;
We only heard the music."

Catch a thread from the weave of life
Pull it gently, for it may break
But the weave will not be marred
Twist your thread back into the story
And do not forget what has gone before

I leave the Halls, wind sweeping the stones
Pulls my hair up like rising smoke
I step onto the grass to take the path
Lórien's Forest calls for my attenion next.

- Lothithil