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Lawrence Hall Mar 2017
Re-Reading Tolkien for Lent

Across the page, across the words, soft light
Soft morning light at play this quiet day
This stand-down day when duty does not call
Not call, and life is for a few hours free

Ink on a page, now forming into songs
Songs that were old when this green world was new
And fields of flowers were as fields of stars
Fields of Creation and eternal Hope

O happy fields forever, here, right here
Across the page, across the words, soft light
A friend of mine asks,
“Why do you only ever write about romance lately?”

Well, the answer is quite simple, really. It is because I have tasted it.

I tasted it when my eyes first drank the light from his grace when he stood tall above me
His saturnine windows called out to me behind flesh curtains whenever he spoke, ever asking me to join him in his ecstasy
He, from a distance, darted towards me and pressed our sides together—letting myself melt in the velveteen touch of fabric skin
There was a shower of momentary light that night but only his radiance did I bask in.

I tasted it in the heart of the stone city where usurpers of old stood on polished stone
The Bulwark’s adobe reach embraced our reverie as memories from sleep stories become reality
He, in the confines of that venerable fortress, made me vulnerable for I was secure in his arms
His fingers are in between my own like woven mithril unbreakable lest he broke its bond himself
It is in this kingdom of carven stone and handmade walls that he sang of ardor with a dragon’s petrifying gaze.

I tasted it in yuletide storms where men and women waged war with happiness and grief
When the armies of pain and suffering fell at our clasped hands and cheeks red from amorous verve you said you were to journey home
But you did not let go of my grasp
With me you remained and in your arms I stayed
As the bitter winds of bigoted mouths blew, as the fire from damnation is declared by self-righteous souls, we stood fast in the storm.

I tasted it when he said our love he could no longer endure
There we sat, on a tarnished vehicle, as the last of our love gave into rust
What is frightening to me peeked from his saturnine eyes and he closed his curtains shut for the downpour of despondency was to come
We flooded our façades and the rivers quaked our emotional integrity
He held my hand for one final chance before we ripped our wrappings forever apart and he kissed me tender
Our lips made love—like the first they ever met in weathered heat—for the last time.

I tasted it when I told him “Just do so, when your appetite roars to love me again,” and until now I am waiting.

So, why do I ever only write about romance lately?

Well, the reason is quite complicated, really. But–but it is because I’ve tasted it.
For my muse, Emer. I ever hoping you'll find your way back to me.

Read more of my works on Tumblr: www.brixartanart.tumblr.com
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
and isn't strange

that i'm sitting in my car

in a parking garage

thinking of you and missing

your stupid plumb apple face

or maybe it's carved from soap

or shaved glass

fragmented by pieces

collected in bindles

followed by bundles

of the joy i used to have

of the sleep i used to get

of the energy i used to take

and isn't it strange how

i have no desire to have you

all to myself for you are

an automous being that

breathes and thinks and acts

wholy different than me

but i can't help but miss you

and your kiwi colored eyes

with the seeds cut out

dipped in a ring of gold

and like smegal i yearn to

hold that precious ring of gold

in my shriveled hands

even though i know

it'll corrupt me

but i'm drawn to mordor

all the same



that's what it's like

missing you



wanting to go there

even when I shouldn't



and isn't it strange

that my world is shifting

complicit and complicated

a deficit of the senses

a pull from the void

a shake of the head

with such filigree i am sated

but blinded by such yearning

to touch your hot skin

feel it rest

against mine



again but



maybe i'm too addicted to sparks
Steve Page Jul 2016
There're swords,
lots of them,
and long-bows,
with fresh, eager arrows
jostle with notched expert axes;

legendary hair frame braided beards
flowing into refilled tankards
drowning curses through broken teeth
gnawing at poor personal hygiene
across the stench of the public tavern
as granite-stares challenge
bone-shattering laughter.
-
All as anticipated -
there's Orcs about
and the prescribed heroes assemble.
-
-
Slow rolling leaden mist cloaks howling creatures at dawn
from deep within the forest,
then disabling rain falls at dusk
and steel clashes with steel in the storm…
-
All these exploits ferment short of full strength
and stretch onto a wide Winter screen
before facing the final critical battle
for a 12A Christmas.
Inspired by Peter Jackson
prompty Feb 2016
the ring that ruled
before dawn and day,
o'er summer & an old sun
with its shafts of remebrance;

shall it remain in middle-earth
and the Dark Lord will feed upon all that is green;
shall it become fire from the mountain
and fair lairs will tremble with the wind of age.

but what is to be must be;
all we have left is what we always had:
the power of a single day that is given to us -
one road to fulfill, to live, and to love.
islam Sep 2015
The affairs of humans I find amusing
and I keep a dragon entwined about
my thumb to do my bidding
let the blood fall like rain and
burn the bodies as kindling
ashes
let their glare and the fogs of war
abolish the very sun.
listen for the sound of hunger in the silence
of my approach
cower in the shade of shades
let the fiery blaze of your hopes be eclipsed
at the sight of the sightless void that is me
for only then will I halt
only then will I lift my blood-wet mouth
and then shall I howell the futility-
of my nothingness.
for then I will see where I stand
in the necropolis Golgatha
and alone shall I perish.
amids carnage and oblivion
For I shunn the vulgarity of the maimed earth
I may not have company of myself for the
ocean no longer bears reflection
As for Fire, its blaze drives me beneath
And the wind?! it speaks unintelligible babble
Eiliv Advena Jun 2015
Yavanna Kementari
The giver of fruits
The mother of trees
The mother of roots

Creator of Laurelin
and Telperions light
The light of the trees
Put an end to the night

She created the moon
She created the sun
With a flower, a fruit
And with light it was done

She is our lady, tall and green
She is our mother
Our beautiful queen
Eiliv Advena Jun 2015
A place with elves
dwarves, hobbits and men
A place with tales
We hear again and again

A place with adventure
That will never die
A place to laugh
And a place to cry

A place with songs
Of ancient days
Sung by elves
Merry and gay

A place where you hear
The hobbits laughter
Where they live
Happily ever after

Where mountains are filled
With silver and gold
Where the dwarves mine
Mighty and bold

A place with men
In cities of stone
And their great king
Sits on a beautiful throne

A place with lore
To others unknown
A place that I love
A place that's my own

There I live
And there will I die
In middle earth
My heart will lie
Jai Karkhanis Feb 2015
The flames of Avalone run deep
in the wells of our hearts,
Yet Avalone is lost to man
black are its sundered parts
of old what grew,so fair
shining,yonder to the west
wherefore has it passed,and why,
does not the light,glimmering,silver gold,
appear to the mortal eye
The two trees that stood,seemingly eternal
are now watered but by shadow
And light,oh cruel light it is now
that burns and does not gently flow
like it did,among the towers of Avalone
The light has passed into flame
blue and white,searing above all else
souls who sought once its blessing
a treacherous guide,
ever leading to the vaults of the deep
where dark and evil light,
remain ever stoking their devilry
spewing it out,into the halls of the night
where yet there is to be found
some of the beauty that was afore
for the stars,they came from Arda
and to her they are bound
They rest among shadow,but glitter
like they did,above the skies of Avalone
Beauty, what of the fallen beauty?
unfathomable among losses, unnumbered are the tears
for even the tongues,of those who did dwell,
there in its glory,have mingled, and remain,
over the  see,where the trees fell
and are heard not among men,to whom but
a whisper came,and darkness,and memory
passed on by age,of the vanquished,of the slain
and of those forgotten among the flames of Avalone
Inspired by Tolkien's Universe
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