Denethor, Mighty Cruel Steward


He withers away from the world,
and backs away from the light,
he sits within his chambers,
always covered with fright.

A city below him,
he sees it through shattered glass,
protected by men with no hope,
and doom that is yet to pass.

His heart is cold,
he wisdom is gone,
and with it his heart,
and from within this world, he is drawn.

With little hope,
comes withering hate,
and the chances to act for the better,
he is gone now, and so is his loving come late.



- Queen of Gondor