"Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.

In panoply of ancient kings,
in chainéd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony;
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.

Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.

There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire on her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long forsaken seas distressed;
from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.

He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk and Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.

A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.

From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From a World's End there he turned away,
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.

And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where Mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse."

~ The Fellowship of the Ring, Many Meetings

The beginning was
over before the start…
It was daunting how she could read
my reflection, in the still waters,
like the book about the stormy seas of my mind.
It is said that “still waters run deep”

Is my soul’s estuary a shallow and barren desert?
With too many glaring imperfections ?
Have the depths of my spirit
reached for the lighted surface
only to see hope evaporate into thin air?

Wanting to feel understood
is a reflection of my heart
and yet I feel the need to harbor,
undiscoverable traits in my cage of solitude...

Am I, one heart only lying to my mind?
As if I were not whole?
Four separated distinct parts…
These hands adorn the quill of
the head, the heart, body and soul...
Without synergy,
am I only an illusion of my own wholeness?

After carefully considering
my reflections in the mirror of her eyes,
a breathless panic fell like a dark fog,
blocking her vision into the book of my mind.
Backed up against the corner wall,
I felt like running as my biggest fears manifest
in the realization that our final  moment had come...

If… “Am I ? ” ... is the question?
"Four separated, in-congruent pieces is the answer"…
I’ve been fooling myself all along

Walking
away seemed better
than running…
Crawling away
on my hands and knees
just seems unfair.…

©  Harlon Rivers

wet streets after the rain
wet thoughts after the lingering
she cavorts in your limbs like a animal unleashed
like a army of fingers seeking to overthrow
like a thought seeking to master

she stumbles on the doorstep
of seeing
hesitates at the verge of meeting the other
half of her own need
leaving herself empty
leaving herself incomplete
leaving the taste on her lips but no meat to the bone
leaving visions of soul formed in stone
unable to move beyond
cold in the sunlight

rain is
the sound
the face in the dark room
the surrender of the primal need to speak
any words that are not capitulation
not redaction of proud sworn oath

she lingers in the mornings bathroom
grazing at the edge of a farmland
places where such dreams are grown
but she dare not partake
she cannot think she would suffice

leaving a soul formed in stone
unable to move beyond
cold in the sunlight
a poignant symbol
an emblem of meaningless loss

(part 3)
rain
and the thoughts
i can break free and spill to the page
like lesser beasts escaping the wood on fire
and i see the time rapidly growing thin
a starving creature
the hours flee
room to room
crying out that doom draws near
rain
and its wet touch chills more than skin
it brings rancid thought to breaking open
and spreading across
the once sweet fruit
and within that moment
rain frees me from feeling
all the things that i drowning in
fills me
slow with blue waters
slows the race
fills me
slower with memory
rain
the thoughts that escape me now
are tempered
by the blade of waters burning touch
rain
glowing on the the seeking bones marrow
growing on the feeding of this hunger
it vaults into the stars
and its quickening heartbeat
forces free more than words emotion begins to follow
like the priests coming to worship at the temple of death
they bring life to face itself in its endings
words new to my eye spill forth
rain
like bright diamonds like tears
rain rain
rain