So one of the reasons I made this blog was to publish my poems. The ones I’ve already written are all based off the Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien, a stunning book on the mythology of Middle Earth. They are written from the perspective of Maglor, second son of Feanor, called the ‘mighty singer’.
They will probably make no sense to anyone who hasn’t read the book (or has a very good understanding of Tolkien’s works), which is why I am a little reluctant to put them here. But whatever. This is my blog and I shall do as I like.
Without further ado, may I present: The Collected Poems of Maglor.
The Oath of Fëanáro
Darkness falls on Valinor
A sickness dark and vile for all
The Trees lie dead by poisoned trick
The High King slain, his blood runs thick
From gaping wound to cold stone floor
The doors of Formenos thrown down
The Dark Power snatches heirloom crowns
The Silmarils of blinding light
Forever lost in hate and spite
By Moringotto who fled the grounds.
Fëanáro, Spirit of Fire
Fierce and fell, with tempered ire
Blinded by grief and fey with pride
Claims the kingship by birthright
A shining hope in city dire.
Forth he sprang with sharpened words
Through impassioned speech he spurred
The valiant Noldor to desperate deeds
Fury drives us, we take no heed
Of the dark and dangerous paths unheard.
“Away!” he cries, with voice like iron
And eyes that gleam with wrath of lions
“There is naught now for us here,
We must avenge, and let all fear
The drums and wrath of Finwë’s scion.”
Then we, the faithful loyal sons
Let naked blade be drawn, each one
Thinking not of days ahead
But drunk with grief for High King dead
And lust for Silmarils to be won.
The sons stand with their mighty king
And swear the Oath that’s doomed to bring
Pain and sorrow upon their names
Driving them to ruin and shame
A deed of horror for the bards to sing.
We lead our kin from city great
Abandon the splendour of our state
To fight for jewels of cherished light
The hallowed Silmarils burning bright
And thus carve into stone our fate.
Flaming torches light our way
Towards the open land where rays
Of sunlight fall and metal rings,
Towards the bright new realm of kings
Where blood is spilt in light of day.
—
The Helcaraxë (The Grinding Ice)
I have never crossed the Grinding Ice.
I have never heard the howling of the wind
across bleak and desolate plains
or felt the stinging numbness
of the cold against bare skin
or wept as I overlooked the
everlasting frozen wasteland
and my tears crystalised before they could
slide from my cheek.
I have never seen the horror
of deep cracks in the ice
like firecrackers in the night
tearing away the safety beneath your feet.
I have never fallen into
the dark and cold abyss
waves lapping over my head
and the screams of my kin lost
to the echoes of time
as I give in to the icy embrace
and drift away.
I have never cursed the names of
those traitors I once called kin
who doomed us to this fate
worse than death,
who crept away like thieves in the night
and set fire to priceless treasures
and cared not for those left behind.
‘Needless baggage on the road,’ they said,
and laughed.
I have never felt that deep knife of betrayal
the pain like a blade of ice
through the heart.
And for that, I am sorry.
An apology means little to
those who have lived through such grief
but it is the best I can give.
I am truly, truly
sorry.
—
Thangorodrim (The Mountains of Tyranny)
Fate is a bitter enemy
And cowardice a cruel friend
My brothers’ glares of enmity
In my mind till the bitter end.
A thousand tears of sorrow
A million cries and pleas
Will not change that come the morrow
Russandol lies tortured, and bleeds.
The dark shadows of Thangorodrim
Rise up to block the stars.
He dwarfs us with his towers grim
My brother is hopelessly far.
Do I dare to tempt destiny
Accept the terms Morgoth states?
Gamble the war and my legacy
To save Maitimo from his fate?
My uncle’s army rises with the moon
Their eyes alight with rage
Swords drawn for vengeance soon
A grudge against us to wage.
My younger brothers, craftier each
Spread lies of poison amongst us
The words coward and traitor in their speech
Each word is a thousand dagger cuts.
How then can I abandon my station
Throw aside the war for the sake
Of one brother who must be forsaken
With the whole rebellion at stake?
And bitterly I weep still in the night
For my cowardice and selfish thoughts
I dared not rescue Maitimo from his plight
I dared not do anything at all.
—
The Dispossessed
We shake the earth with deeds of might,
A hundred thousand shining spears
With polished armour, hauberks bright;
And fiery eyes that know not fear.
We chase that which we cannot reach
With tempered steel and will to rise,
Incite rebellions with a speech
To turn our backs on paradise.
We destroy the weave of fate
And crush the hapless fortune’s wheel
And start again with empty slate
For we will forge our futures real.
We rule in mighty kingdoms bold
Content in shining splendoured forms,
And let our enemies behold
Our hate conjures a fiery storm.
We envision futures bright,
Triumphant trumpets ringing clear
In cloudless summer’s morning light
Reclaiming what we hold most dear.
But now,
We walk like thralls through lonely woods
And flit from place to place like thieves
In broken realms where once we stood
Now we toss in the wind like leaves.
We appear like haunted wraiths
Wielding swords with crimson stains
In our Oath we still have faith
Though my heart aches from the pain.
We who swore the Oath are doomed
Forever to wander in despair
While the threat of darkness looms
We cannot escape Mandos’ lair.
We are sons of Fëanor
Sing of us beneath the trees
For long ago in days of yore
We spilled kin blood beside the sea.
I rarely read poetry and I haven’t dabbled in it much before, so I have no idea where my poems stand on the scale of quality. Possibly they are terrible. Quite probably they need more work. And almost certainly they make no sense to anyone else.
Oh well.
lothloripen 