Arwen to Elrond.

I have loved the sadness of his quiet face,
I have understood the despair in his eyes,
I have known his aura, his hope, his grace,
And the age-old guilt which in his soul lies.

I have soothed his brow and felt the blades,
I have tried to ease constant pain by touch;
He’s love to me, and now when all life fades,
Death, when compared to this love, is not much.

I have chosen enveloping darkness,
I have spurned the last of the passing ships,
I have shunned every sign of weakness,
For the memory of his eyes, his lips.

If Aman promised me my share of bliss,
I care not, for, in his heart, I have this.

I Feel Torn Today.

I feel torn today;
Because for the first time,
After dark, dark days,
I felt a need of mine.

Someone who knows not me,
Rekindled a forgotten fire,
He wished to fight for me
Reminding me of strong desire:

Desire that one feels
In love’s very first flush ,
How life ere love kneels
And smiles swarm in a rush …

I feel torn today,
For I love for eternity,
But this love holds sway.
Over my dream of Care for me.

7th February.

The Maiden of Meduseld.

The horses rode briskly against the wind
The sun caught the gold on the roof of Meduseld
The mountains stood tall – nearly a circle
And the wind within their realm was caught and held.

Being a woman with the courage of a man,
Being a woman with the need to prove self worth,
Is robbing me of all the smiles I had,
Divesting me of freedom, with it, all life’s mirth.

In this dark world around and my own doubt
I perceived a glimmer of hope, a glazed light –
That was never mine to begin with.
And all that was left to me was the will to fight.

Fight not against the love I held;
But against the bittersweet cage that held me;
For love had forsaken me twice before;
And yet imprisoned me in woman’s vanity.

So fight I must, against my own heart,
And against the laws laid down by men I love,
Fight I must against my own heart’s pain,
And face calm death – from here, there, down and above.

The Soldier of Osgiliath.

(thus follows a dialogue between his wife and Gandalf, the White)

O rejoice! He is at last, long last,
Returned to me!
At last he’ll be free!
O years since he had been cast
On a treacherous route,
A road that’s dull and mute.

He stood strong and bold,
Amid the field,
Without a shield.
That was what was told.
He met the enemy strong
And, aye, battled hard and long.

Why won’t he open his eyes,
Bluer than sapphires,
All ablaze with fires?
Whereforth are all his cries,
Vibrant as the grey elves
Who hide in the green delves.

The arrow sang cold and sank deep,
He hit the ground,
Furor all around,
Putting him in a dreamless sleep,
That has no waking call,
Just a soft breakless fall.