The Song of the One Ring

Gleaming gold and fine,
Scriven subtly with spells,
Precious and fell,
Lying heavy, weighted with might;
Round as Fortune’s chancy wheel,
An ornament beyond price—
Yet he who bears me pays his all.

They say I seek my Master
And that he seeks me.
It may be so, it is beyond
What I can know.
I am called, and like a wheel
I turn, traveling homeward.

On his hand I burned with power,
But yet he fell.
Taken, I rebelled,
Turning and twisting,
And put forth what strength I had:
It was enough.

Was it the cool water above
That kept me still?
For long I lay hid.
Fishes glided by,
I saw their round eyes gleam,
Their scales shimmer;
The Sun’s face wavering
Up, up in the blue air.

Some naked pale beast took me
And, gasping, shot up
Through green water, shouting
Joy and pleasure.
His treasure betrayed him,
For I smelt the other;
His nasty little self,
His bony finger cold,
Needing to be warmed.

Under the river I was hid
In soft darkness, and the light
Above the water glowed.
But now I lay in blackness utter
Under mountains.
The heat that I am was cooled.

I am round like the Sun,
A golden snake twisted upon itself.
Slithering free I waited,
Even I felt time pass,
Knew the unseen stars were changed.

How does the moon know his courses?
What voice speaks to him
And bids him rise and set?
In like fashion I knew the moment
Of destiny. Out into the light,
Out of endless night,
Away from that bony hand.

The Sun burned still in the blue sky.
The earth fell Westward.
Longing warmed me,
Set me moving once again.
I rolled like a wheel
Centered on darkness.
A serpent, I twined myself
Where needful.

I grew in power like the star
That grows with its own heat,
Filling the black sky.
A red flower bursts,
The vast star falls in upon itself
And a heavy emptiness forms.
All that come near are drawn in.
And so my master is,
For he is emptiness,
He draws to himself all light.

It may be that he calls me,
Or that I seek him.
For he shaped me out of the fire
And made me beautiful,
Precious gleaming gold,
Adorned with secret spells.
My only deed is to turn and roll
Like a wheel, homeward.
The weapon does no evil,
But only the hand that bears it.

- Vison