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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 upon 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

As 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 drownded before the Days began,

Until he heard on strands of pearl

When 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 and 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 of 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

N or 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 World's End then 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.
Elfinmox May 2013
"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
Chloe Dec 2014
(I tried to write letters but the words got stuck)

Milady all in white,
with sparking eyes and shaky foundations
the world is too big for your icy hands
reaching out for her smile like you were fire
and she was rain, heaven sent
you see ashes where there’s mist
wings splintering from your bones
and I pray that you find freedom
without leaving me

My fairy who dreams of Neverland,
with leaves in tangled hair
eyes crinkled with smiling
you are so very powerful
I fear you would rather consume yourself
than let go of her at last
and from all the things you don’t tell me
I begin to hate the world a little more

My pixie with straight curls,
I was in love with you for the longest time
but I know both myself and you better now
and I will always stand beside you
your  beauty is in your imperfections
drawing the best sort of people in
you’ve saved me a thousand times
and I've missed you more than I can say

My quiet one with a smile of steel,
you are so kind without saying a world
he leans so much that I’m afraid you will fall
and still have to pick him up again
I only hope you know your worth
I only hope that you’ll let us catch you
you are a beautiful human being
and you mean the universe to me

Milady with a bow-tie,  
your mind is a brilliant, vibrant thing
as are your eyes and smile and laughter
you are a warrior and a scholar
a charmer, a singer, and a lover
you've made me feel loved and wanted
without hesitance of any kind
and it is the best gift I have ever been given
so thank you for slow dancing to an off-beat piano
I'll always love for you to lead

Milady of dragon's fire,
you are fiercer than your flames
and stronger than them as well
you are learning and beginning
and I can only watch in awe
I believe in every part of you
in your beauty and your strength
so thank you for not taking ****
and may the world quit giving **** to you

Milady of the angels,
you have the brightest soul I've ever seen
and a mithril backbone to match
thank you for helping me be myself again
for shining brightly and staying with me
you deserve all the best the world can give
for your beauty and grace and laughter
I would give my soul to see you smiling always

My lady of the wiccan elves,
you are the loveliest being that I know
both in body and in spirit
I'm sorry that I did not tell you so
I'm a bit of a coward that way
you are a thousand miles out of my league
but I will always marvel at your crooked grin
and the way your mind runs circles 'round all others

Milady the endless ponderer,
I am not half the friend I should be
your thoughts are beautiful, have always been
and it lights my heart to hear your confidence
I will always listen and try to understand
though I am not always as there as I should be
and for that I am truly sorry
I know that for the philosopher
it is the greatest punishment to be unheard
you deserve the best of listeners

My quiet greek goddess,
you somehow thought I was worth staying for
I would have kissed you given the chance
but we all know how I am about that sort of thing
you made me feel at home again
when I felt like I wasn't worth existing
thank you, for everything
I'm sorry I wasn't the right one

My legend in royal hues,
for some reason you picked me to love
(you can't imagine my bewilderment)
thank you, for all you've given me
for all you've let me show you
and for your smile that reminds me of home
I hope you find what you're looking for
without falling to ******* your way


Milady of the summer court,
all wide eyes and lovely braids
you made me feel wanted and infinitely happy
but I will never be enough for you
may your mind always wander into beauty
and may you someday learn the workings of souls
come back and tell me when you do
I will always love to hear your voice

Milady of love and loss,
I hope your list helps organize your mind
you deserve the best of happiness
but I fear you'll look towards the wrong eyes
I'm going to miss you dearly
but I know you'll find your own way
you don't need me much at all
but you make me smile when I'm beside you
so don't you ever lose that light
you'll find one to match it someday

Milady the beautiful and free,
you are fiercely kind and lovely
I look up to you more than I can say
in your strength and in your thoughts
thank you for your words
for your smile and your love
you brought me back from myself
and I will always be grateful
may everyone marvel at your existence
and at how far you've come
it is, after all
the very least of what you deserve
most definitely under construction.
if you're reading this, i'm sorry. you deserve better than this.
will continue to be added to and edited.
severely edited.
with a machete. probably.
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
Little Bear Feb 2016
I leave this place.
The clouds of humiliation hang heavy,
drenching my naked skin.
The air damp with shame.

Looking back at the town
called worry and torment.
My naked form ridiculed and put in stocks
as the towns folk aimed their best.
My time was served
for no crime that I committed.

And I am now leaving.
To wander the hills and woodland once again.
To find my peace.

My rucksack now packed with my hopes,
like Lambas bread.
A small cake of it
would feed a grown man for a day,
even with a hard march ahead.
I know there are many in my bag.
Enough to last a lifetime.

My water skin filled with laughter,
drinking deeply to quench my thirst.
I know the clear springs I find
will fill my bottle to the brim.

My dreams are worn about me,
as the finest cloth,
To give me warmth at night
and to hide me from my foe.
Their colour indiscernible,
neither grey nor green.
The soft Hithlain hangs about my shoulders
clasped with a broach of comfort.

I wear my friendships under my garments,
keeping them close to my heart.
As strong as Mithril.
And just as beautiful.

My map shows the way to happiness,
just over the horizon.
Away from this town.

The sun shines through the trees,
showing me the way.
The only thing I can trust is that it will rise in the east
and will set in the west.
Everything else will be met with caution.
A lesson well learned.

My heart is light,
my mind clear,
I know the way ahead will be led
only by my own footsteps.
Walking barefoot to the new lands that await me.

Running,
happy,
waving my map...

I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!!!!

:O)
I love Tolkien's 'The Lord of the Rings'..
Just read 'The Hobbit' for the second time.
Now reading 'The Fellowship of the Ring' again...
'The Two Towers' next!!!

One day I will be brave and read 'The Silmarillion'


When life gives you lemons, keep 'em, because hey... free lemons.!!

:o)
Little Bear Aug 2016
she was made of glass
and dandelions
pressed flowers
and sunlight
hair
soft as gossamer
and eyes
the morning dew
her mind
full of daydreams
wishes
hopes
and love
as she danced with air
stepping barefoot
through her solitude
wishing her bones
were not so fragile
and that her heart
would not beat
breaking spun sugar ribs
not made for this world
never to belong
her tissue skin tore
with each tide
every storm
ached her
inside out
but she remains
as her soul
was born of gold
her spirit
mithril
forged
in lakes of fire
so she remains
to love
where she does not belong
Her heart beats the bass drum of her symphony mind.
Her poet soul writes ballets of her reluctant spirit.
Her delicate body is inched in mithril chain works,
Never ceasing to save her from danger; herself.
Artwork covers her remote vessel, maps guiding along.
Telling wicked stories with beautiful silk advocacies,
Carefully constructed of pearly whites,
Rose pinks, plum purples and crimson reds.
She's up in her tower, guarded by bitterness and pain.
Her secluded wonderland is unseen by most eyes.
Yet those who bare the trouble of the journey,
Will arrive forever unchanged with awe and sadness
In their hearts. As for the girl who the world blindly oversees,
She steals the breath of the ones who hold her dear.
Alexandra Nov 2021
I dream of green isles
Across oceans vast and tumultuous
Of stark cliffs and pastures disordered
I dream of a land unfamiliar and strange
Of hobbit holes and twisted trees
Of desolate cruelty and quiet peace
Of frozen rivers and stark plains
I dream of a land I had known well as a child
For its pages I travelled through
In pursuit of dragon gold and mithril steal
I dreamt of such a land,  I imagined myself sword in hand
I trodded beside dwarven armies
I confronted a dragon gilded in gold,
My heart bled across crumbled pages,
I wept bitterly for friends lost.
I dreamt of a land unfamiliar and strange,
Yet within, I found a home.
As a kid my only form of escape was through the pages of a story. As an adult - this hasn't changed. Books are freedom.
KorbydAngyle Mar 2022
Aaah Precious Panic



Precious panic cuckold of chambray
Blug the plug the blunt puck notwithstanding humming randy feral & smug
In a day I sought due recourse for killed an'mitsy all 'a' brightened and layed
But the ghosts of Mithril citadels and ghouls and wraiths danced of it in the forever more
Not by once or dawning hurt blank souls revenant from Hades
But the grief derived denizens reprieve the good book and armistice were born of it and ...the various shades
East rassled the wisps the vines curdled and cuddled beasts bane beats of the heart that cuts loose
re-countanance floor to columns' heights through the rain
I not Holier I than the trenchaunt sly folio that's I standing with I in spite of myself
Such good waits for cues on heinous delving redundancies
as easily as it was first thought to be by pain and panic.... cast out
Viktor Gado Sep 28
When the light dies and in creaps the dark whelm,
the door is revealed under the Moons guise.
Speak Friend and enter into the realm
of an empire domed by granite skies.

Behold, visitor! The majestic halls
that echo the clanging of hammers still
a whole age later after these walls
first bore marks of our patience and skill

woven together into an endless grid,
with caverns and roads stretching far and wide,
once richly adorned and brightly lit,
meriting to our mastery and pride.

Every day and night our smelters gorged
upon the hills of a precious ore.
The blunt pounding of our mighty Forge
through these passages that we bored

never ceased. The domain breathed with its draft,
that fed fires hotter than veins of Earth,
and in generations of labor in this craft
amassed riches of a boundless worth:

Silver, jewels, iron and mithril too,
all freed from the crampy grasp of stone -
as our picks slowly razed their way through
the Mountain towards the old and unknown.

There was no such thing as a well too deep
... untill there was. And in our greed and vain
we suddenly woke from it's lengthy sleep
the herald of our doom. The Durins bane.

Silent now stands the greatest of all
Dwarwen kingdoms. It's heirs deceased.
Defiled by vermin. Plundered. Appaled
from the enduring presence of the Beast.

But it's foretold that we will return
once that the Fiend is bested and slain.
The rekindled forge will again burn
and breathe life into the Mines again.

— The End —