Farmir Muses


One night in Osgiliath

The constellations wheel above my head,
White stars burning in the black night.
The Swordsman’s shining belt is flung
From North to South, the Moon will rise
In due course, up from the eastern Sea.

Two stars, there, just to the right of that peak,
They might be brothers, might they not?
I fancy that they are, that they rise and set
Together. I would that I knew more of Stars,
But fate has made another art my science.

The stars will shine forever, I suppose,
Or at least as long as will be forever to me.
I will never know if one should cease to burn,
If one should fail, and the other star be left,
Left alone to try to blaze for two.

The night is starless, now. The moon is hid
Behind the clouds that sped in from the East.
South of here, on my right hand,
The city lights shimmer on the water.
I hear the river, flowing by.

In the city, in his tower, waits my father,
Listening for booted feet upon the stair.
He will not come, my brother, for he is gone
To that realm where the stars burn,
And warriors find rest and peace.

Once we rode together, once our hands met
Clasping. Our father watched, smiling,
As we contended for some prize, a rose,
Or a bit of golden ribbon. He loved us then,
Two stars burning in his firmanent.

Now I am left, no brother at my side.
No loving hand can lift me if I fall.
One star is dark, the fire quenched,
And quenched too, my father’s love for me.
He does not see me, being blind with grief.

When daily custom has dulled his pain,
He will lift his eyes and see my face
And smile as he was used to do.
One star can blaze enough, I deem,
To drive the dark and grief away.

- Vison