The Great Hall of Poets – January 2015


by Pedro M.

To the West,
To the ever-lasting light of the Blessed Land,
For now the ages have weighed upon my soul,
And the eternal life that blessed me once
Have now turned into a curse.
To the West,
For what is the sight of Minas Tirith
Compared to the eternal beauty of Tirion upon the hill?
And the White Tree of Gondor
To the ever-lasting majesty of the Undying Lands
But a silvered mirror of ancient glory,
Now meaningless and void?
To the West,
Where my soul shall forever rest on Mandos’s silent halls,
For my eyes see now but darkness,
And death was sent forth upon my kin.
There is no more hope on this fading land for me,
And I’ve seen it’s baleful fate,
For men shall now rule over this Earth,
And my people will be forgoten with the years.
But shall I miss this brave and ancient land
That my eyes shall see no more,
For on this now forsaken mountains,
Hills, valleys and rivers,
On these deep and now hollow caves and fortresses,
Have we for long lived and died,
On this mighty land of men
We have fought for hope and light,
Blood have been spilled,
And many lifes have been taken,
But our spirits were never broken,
Or our origin forsaken.
Yet now the memory of this heroic past
Causes me but grief and pain,
And there’s no relief here for my weeping soul.
The burning flame that brought us here is now but ashes,
Cold and grey,
Evermore carried away,
Fading in the whispering Wind.
And on the silvered ships shall I return to our luminous, most beloved Land.
Now I say farewell my friends,
May the blessed light of the West forever shine upon your fate,
And may we meet once more after you pass away,
On the silent house of Mandos,
On the distant, undying West.

~~ * ~~

Lament of Dís

by Mrs. Adam C.

My two children are lying at my feet,
death in their faces, so peaceful and sweet.
O Ilúvatar, what can I have done
to deserve this loss of life?

The tears drop heavy from my face,
my heart has been struck by a mace.
Death: how cold, how cruel
to take my only sons from me!

My sons have entered Eru’s halls,
though, heartbroken, their mother calls.
O Fíli, Kíli, do not forget she
who lingers on the fading earth.

~~ * ~~


by I. Salogel

Lothlórien was abandoned and
Thus died the flowers of that land;
In Middle-earth sunstars bloomed no more
But one – and that was Elanor.

A Hobbit lass with curling locks
Of golden ringlets; dressed in frocks
Befitting well her folk and kin
And flaunting prettily her grin.

Her eyes that sparkle wondrous fair
And blue, improve her yellow hair.
Though sometimes they are full of cheek
At other times are sweet and meek.

Firstborn daughter of Samwise
The Brave, ‘tis not a great surprise
That such a girl as she was taken
To be the royal queen’s handmaiden.

When beautiful and grown, she wed
A young lad who was named Fastred.
They lived in Westmarch, green with flowers.
Their children Fairbairns of the Towers.

And when Sam up and took
His leave of Middle-Earth, they kept his book,
And lived in simple Hobbit ways
Until the end of all their days.

~~ * ~~


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