{"id":95252,"date":"2014-11-30T21:20:07","date_gmt":"2014-12-01T02:20:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.theonering.net\/torwp\/?p=95252"},"modified":"2014-11-30T21:20:07","modified_gmt":"2014-12-01T02:20:07","slug":"the-great-hall-of-poets-16","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theonering.net\/torwp\/2014\/11\/30\/95252-the-great-hall-of-poets-16\/","title":{"rendered":"The Great Hall of Poets"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"ThorinReading\"<\/a>Welcome to The Great Hall of Poets, our regular monthly feature showcasing the talent of Middle-earth fans. Each month we will feature a small selection of the poems submitted, but we hope you will read all of the poems that we have received here in our\u00a0Great Hall of Poets<\/a>.<\/p>\n

So come and join us by the hearth and enjoy!<\/p>\n

If you have a Tolkien\/Middle-earth inspired poem you\u2019d like to share, then send it to\u00a0poetry@theonering.net<\/a><\/em>
\nOne poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Hammer-song<\/strong><\/h4>\n

by solideogirl<\/em><\/p>\n

My people talk by smithcraft,
\nnot with wordcraft.
\nOur sorrow we trap in works of gold
\nand frame in settings of gems.
\nWe reforge our strength on the anvil.
\nWe do not deal in idle grief over-long.<\/p>\n

Our songs are not of one soul\u2019s journey in loss,
\nbut of many: the wrongs and griefs of our house,
\nand not our hearts.
\nBut the road I take now is long and lonely,
\nand there is no anvil for me.<\/p>\n

My people are born to suffer.
\nI do not seek nor shun it:
\nwould I be a daughter of Durin if I did?
\nYet I would shun it if I could. For though I am a child of kings in exile
\nI have a heart beating in my breast.<\/p>\n

When my father\u2019s father was young,
\nhe saw his father slain before his doors.
\nA cold-drake from the north slaughtered him,
\nand his second son died in his defense.
\nHis elder son did not die.
\nHe carried the shame of it with him through the wilds,
\nover rivers,
\nunder mountains,
\nacross the valleys of the east,
\ntill he came at last to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain
\nand settled there, a lonely king
\nreturned at last to the halls his fathers delved.
\nFrom desolation unto greatness
\nhe led our folk
\nbut was cast into darkness by a drake, his father\u2019s doom.<\/p>\n

We were driven from the north, from Gundabad,
\nour high and hallowed home.
\nWe fled from Khazad-d\u00fbm, from Durin\u2019s bane,
\nwe, fighters and not fleers.
\nWe left the Ered Mithrim
\nwhere the Dragons slew our folk.
\nAnd from the Kingdom Under the Mountain
\nwe departed deep in ruin.
\nHow could we expect a different tale?<\/p>\n

My father saw his father leave
\nin shame and in despair.
\nTired of poverty and the scorn of men,
\nhe could no longer bear the burden.
\nHe went to the waters of Kheled-z\u00e2ram,
\nto the blessed Vale of Azanulbizar,
\nto the very Gates of Khazad-d\u00fbm,
\nand there was slain.
\nIn the halls where he might have reigned as king
\nhe was mocked, tormented, killed.
\nAnd my father sat for seven days, unresting, unspeaking, hungering.
\nAt last he said, \u2018This shall not be borne!\u2019 And he led the Dwarves to war.<\/p>\n

My brother watched his brother die
\nbefore the Gates of Khazad-d\u00fbm.
\nI loved that one. He was young,
\nhardly old enough to warrant bearing arms.
\nBut he marched away, the second son,
\nand came not back again.
\nAnd the elder son was left alone,
\nfor my father could no longer bear the burden:
\nhe went over the Misty Mountains, into Mirkwood
\nand was lost.
\nNone know where
\nbut he never came again.<\/p>\n

My Dwarf too was slain: my own, my ring-wearer,
\nhe father of my two sons.
\nHe was no son of kings,
\nbut he was my own.
\nMy people take pride in our fathers and in our sons:
\nwe do not take pride in ourselves.
\nNo pride should have been lost when I lost him,
\nyet something I lost with my Dwarf
\nthat was not pride.
\nIt was nearer.<\/p>\n

Many days at the anvil did not suffice
\nand I think never will.<\/p>\n

My brother went eastward
\nafter our father\u2019s steps.
\nHe took with him my sons,
\nall I had.
\nHe went to reclaim
\nthe ancient home of our people
\nbut without hope.
\nI know.
\nHe went to perish as our father did
\nas our brother and our kinsmen
\nand as our father\u2019s father:
\nfighting for a place that once was ours
\nagainst odds unassailable.
\nA better death than many.<\/p>\n

When my father went he left his heir behind unknowing,
\nignorant of where he went and why.
\nMy brother would not do that to his heirs,
\nthe sons of my heart,
\nso he took them.
\nHe took them and they will not come again.<\/p>\n

My road is long, the road back to our homeland
\nwhere my brother sleeps now in high honor.
\nBold he was, and dared the deed: his doom was great.
\nThere was no hope, and yet it came to pass.
\nBut I will see him no more. He died as a warrior should,
\nas father of the folk who swore the oath:
\n \u2018We have bled for you, and will again.\u2019<\/em>
\nHe bled in the end for them, and died
\nwounded with many wounds,
\naxe notched,
\narmor rent.
\nIt was a good death.
\nBut in the stone of Dwarvish breasts
\na heart yet beats.
\nAnd I cannot sing of the King Under the Mountain.<\/p>\n

So long is this road
\nthat I cannot see its end:
\nI am not old
\nbut I am no longer young.
\nCan one be young whom Death has made
\na constant comrade?<\/p>\n

They died a good death too.
\nDefending him with shield and body,
\nthe last heirs of the line
\nslain for their king.
\nNow they lie with him,
\nwhere they wished to lie.
\nI could not tell them I wished otherwise.<\/p>\n

My sons, my sons, my sons!<\/p>\n

I should rejoice, not weep
\nat this return.
\nAll we slaved and sorrowed for is accomplished.
\nOur fathers are avenged, and the kingdom is restored.
\nOur people walk unfearing to their home.
\nThe deaths were brave, the honor kept,
\nthe tributes carved in stone.
\nWhat more can one ask?<\/p>\n

An anvil, on which to beat out tales and songs.
\nGold for golden deeds and noble hearts,
\nsilver for the moon upon the mountain;
\ndiamond for the brightness of our sons,
\nruby for the blood upon the ground;
\niron for the courage of our race,
\nsteel for the weapons triple-forged.
\nAnd mithril for the glory, for the beauty,
\nfor the honor of our house,
\nand the love of kin for kin;
\nfor the Arkenstone of Thr\u00e1in now brought to rest
\nin the heart of the mountain whose heart it was,
\non the heart of the last lord whose heart it was.
\nBut where shall I find a resting place?<\/p>\n

Many days at the anvil will not suffice.
\nD\u00eds the daughter of Durin, sister of kings,
\nmother of heroes.
\nEnvy not my honor.<\/p>\n

This is my hammer-song.<\/p>\n

~~ * ~~<\/p>\n

<\/h4>\n

Night in Rivendell<\/strong><\/h4>\n

by Mrs. Adam C<\/em><\/p>\n

It was the night in Rivendell;
\nand stars shone down on misty dell.
\nThe earth was deep in silent sleep,
\nand it was night in Rivendell.<\/p>\n

It was the night in Rivendell.
\nWhile river softly glim’ring fell
\nto shining mist: a silver pool’
\nFor it was night in Rivendell.<\/p>\n

It was the night in Rivendell;
\na lone voice sang, clear as a bell
\nOf stars, bright in the velvet night,
\nwhile it was night in Rivendell.<\/p>\n

~~ * ~~<\/p>\n

Sleep Now, My Children (Dis’ Lament)<\/strong><\/h4>\n

By Michele S.<\/em><\/p>\n

Sleep now, my children, softly sleep
\nYour journey is at its end.
\nNo longer can you cry or weep
\nThose things are left to me.<\/p>\n

The cruelty of being the last alive
\nIs slow and festering pain.
\nEarth passes through seasons and thrives\u2014
\nBut new joys are not for me.<\/p>\n

Once, twice, and now again, I see
\nThe work of war and strife–
\nDeath separating you from me.
\nMy tears alone are left.<\/p>\n

Through the toils of passing years
\nI endure the endless nights
\nAwaiting the return of all I hold dear\u2014
\nBut it is not meant to be.<\/p>\n

Sleep now, my children, softly sleep
\nYour journey is at its end.
\nMy eyes are dry and no longer weep
\nBut my heart is torn to shreds.<\/p>\n

~~ * ~~<\/p>\n

\u00a0Click here to read the complete collection in The Great Hall of Poets<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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