Poetry Palce Vol I

The Dunedain

In shame we came to lands afar
who long dwelt 'cross the seas.
As lone leaf left on barren branch
Caught sometime in rough breeze,
thus we were; as glittering drop
Remains of bitterest storm
so lingered we who once were great-
To lands of exile born.

In exile thus we built anew
cities fair and white-
But none so fair as those we knew
And none as free from blight.
And though we fought in battles oft
to make our kingdom stay,
in lands a-north we could not keep
the Shadow long at bay.

A wandering kin we came to be,
bereft of all our honour,
with shortened life, both cold and dark-
our legacy of Númenor.
We lived here but to keep from harm
who dwelt now yet in peace,
A thankless and a frightening charge
of simple folks' release.

'Odd', they call us in their towns,
and 'best to always shun'.
They look to us with fearful gaze,
and try to seem in fun.
They live not a full day's walk
from foes to freeze their hearts,
and yet, the innocent is the one
it is best to save from dark.

And so we wander far and wide
in lands we now know well.
Long gone our days of glory
and that day of seeming hell.
We have lost that land given
to us, by our own wrong,
but still we dream of one day
a reprieve for goodness long."

By Valariel

The Dunedain

Half a footprint, a fallen leaf;
A broken blade foretelling grief;
They haunt the woods, hills, and glen
Who are these strange, forgotten Men?

They wander long, they wander far,
Looking always to the Star;
the guide of their fathers once before,
singing hope forever more.

Wielding blade with fearsome skill;
as mighty with pen and parchment and quill.
Bearer of songs and ancient tales,
of fair Western land with foam-white sails.

From whence do they come? Where do they go?
Fading to wood or water or snow.
None linger long, they of hope bereft,
and when they depart, no trace is left.

Some wonder to what end they toil;
the ignorant sneer, smiling sickly oil.
But their wanderings were not in vain
for from them the King did come again.

By Etharei

The Beacons of Gondor

Seven standing through dark years,
Ever ready for time of need,
Hiding in the treetops, Rangers stay,
Waiting for the call on such fateful day,
That flash of light they must heed,
The blaze that will affirm our fears.

One by one, the beacons burst assunder,
Flames dancing on snow-covered peaks,
A shout rings out in the night so clear,
Awake! There is dreadful danger near,
Soaring high, with sparks they speak,
Brighter than the loudest thunder.

Amon Dîn, The Silent Hill,
First to join the march renowned,
Ever looking to the White Tower,
Countless days, hour upon hour,
Distant throb of drums the only sound,
Long, lonely nights to fill.

Eilenach, cresting through the trees,
Ancient folk at your feet stray,
Woses, Wild Men of the Wood,
Number two, for years boldy stood,
In shadow of Ered Nimrais,
Guarding against our enemies.

Nardol, third in line to be lit,
"Fire-hilltop", so aptly named,
Upon broad ridge, a tower grand,
Brightest of them all you stand,
Guarded closely, with care maintained,
For forty leagues your glow persists.

Erelas, to call for aid, the fourth,
Far to the east you faithfully gaze,
Ever searching distant skies,
The plains of Anórien fill your eyes,
Grass and field, green sea of haze,
Your task to call the horse-men forth.

Min-Rimmon, fifth, and of the eldest,
Built in ancient days of men,
When distant vision became less clear,
Through waning of the palantír,
Halfway to the woods of Firien,
A thousand year wait on Northern crest.

Calenhad, the last is finally in sight,
Yet the sixth, the dawn to pierce,
"Green Mound" in hollow of foothills,
Listening long as nightbird trills,
Ever straining eye and ears,
For warning from your fellow light.

Halifirion, great Hill of Awe,
Amon Anwar, last but most hallowed,
A secret held for years gone by,
Of Elendil's Tomb, whispered no sigh,
Until were taken sacred vows,
Two nations joined in peace and war.

And by their fires, came Riders fierce,
On mearas, steeds as swift as wind,
To join bold warriors of the Citadel,
In wingéd armor, with faces fell,
Until the Enemy's ranks were thinned,
The Witch King's armor deadly pierced.

"The beacons of Gondor are alight!",
Never more such words we hope to heed,
In these wide and peaceful lands,
Guided now by Elessar's mighty hands,
Yet they triumphed in our time of need,
Bringing victory with their voices bright.

By Aralomiel

The Beacons of Gondor

A light of hope in times do dark,
That shone as a symbol of bonds of old.
From the Seven tiers of Minas Tirith,
To the Hall of the Golden King in the mark.

On the silent hill of Amon Din,
The easternmost was the first to be lit.
The oldest of fires in line to give hope,
From the time of the ancients to their royal kin.

Deep within the ancient forest it stayed
On a hill was the second in line, Eilenach.
Far from the west it's flame could be seen,
High atop the mountain it laid.

On a fiery hill the beacon Nardol was alight,
This third flame could be seen far into the west.
A hill it was that held this great flame,
Guarded with dedication in day or night.

Eralas was now the fourth in line.
Sitting proudly on top of a barrren plain.
It sat in the middle of war and despair,
The rest of the fires it helped to bind.

On the Northern border of mountains of white,
Min-Rimmon, one of the oldest was seated.
Long before the lifetime of Eorl the young,
The fifth of the flames had been set alight.

Neat the Firien Forest, Calenhad lies,
Along the borders of the Riddermark.
The mound of green would be the sixth,
Always looking to save many lives.

A tomb of a king was Halifirien's site,
It stood on the border of two great lands.
Looking always and ever toward the west,
The seventh of them all now shone bright.

The seven beacons brought so much hope,
In all times of dire war and despair.
From the ancient times to the end of the world,
They stood alone as an inspiration to all.

By Aeltaewe

Osgilliath

Proud towers of stone, gleaming in the sun
This city whispers tales from when this land was young
Such strength behind the beauty of a place so fair
I wonder, if these walls could speak, what stories we'd find there

I must leave this city of the stars, to find my destiny
But in my hear I'll carry the thought of it with me
I pray that I'll return again, to find things as I leave them
That this city will remain, every stone still stand within

Now many years have passed, I come now to my home
Gondor always called to me, though leagues I have roamed
I come now from my journey, looking for the sight
Of the fortress Osgiliath, I search in the fading light

And oh, the sorrow which is near to great to bear
Fills my heart at what I see lying before me there
Oh, great walls, how long now has it been
The tears are blinding as I beg to be told when

Has the city lain abandoned only a few days hence
Or was it years ago that some great foe broke her defense
Oh, proud city of the stars, wither did thy greatness go
Stones once so strong no crumbling to the earth below

Minas Tirith stands, as tall as e'er before
But what of this great fortress which faithfully guards her door?
Are there none who would bring back this city which has served
So long in Gondor's name, does this it not deserve?

I return to the White City, with a weary burdened heart
How can I be at peace when Osgiliath lies dark
It seems not right that I should rest my weary head
When her streets lie silent, for none do there now tread

By Ibiralian

Loreth

In my days of youth long past,
I dreamt of good and noble deeds
That would surpass all evil;
But to me they gave no heed.

Long I toiled, worked and waited,
Dreamed and hoped the day would come
When to my country and the realm
My aid and skill would dain to run.

A legend, too, I also heard
Of one whose power would be great,
Skill and healing would he have,
This man who'd take the Kingly seat.

Long I looked for King and deeds,
But to me all seemed as vain.
For neither one did show his face
And left me hopeless once again.

War and trouble then began,
And deeds I found were many;
But of the King there was no sign,
Just rumors whispered, "Steady."

But all seemed vain, completely lost
One fateful desperate day.
To me they brought our brave, young prince
Nigh to death and ashen gray.

My utmost skill was spent for nought
And long I wept and cried,
'Til through our city there came one
Whose vissage was clear and high.

"The hands of the King," I said to all
"Are the hands of a healer."
I waited then with bated breath,
Anxious and creeping nearer.

He crushed the plant, and oh my joy
When the King was thus revealed!
My dreams, my hopes were all fulfilled,
No longer hidden or concealed.

By Jade Nolan

Ioreth

When I gazed at the shining city beneath Mindolluin
as a child, I knew I would faithfully serve the city of Gondor.
My hands, skilled at the healing arts taught in Imloth Melui,
would bind the wounds of those who lived under Steward Denethor.

When I came of age, I left Lossarnach for the white city of the bold.
In awe, I walked among the markets, among the sun-bleached stone
and I dreamt of what my future would bring, what place would I hold?
as I gripped the pale, dried roses that reminded me of home.

I devoted much time to study, especially medicinal lore,
while I rose in the Houses of Healing to chief overseer.
And my knowledge benefited those who fought in the Ring War;
my words of wisdom saved the life of our Lord Faramir.

And now I am as withered as the roses that I brought
long ago as I maiden, and as I near my death
I dream of being laid in the fields of flowery Imloth
where the fragrant roses will whisper the name "Ioreth".

By Lambemaica





Pelargir and its Decay and Rebirth


Pelargir stands on Gondor's shore,
Beyond it the land goes on never more.
Anduin passes by its fair walls,
Down in the South, the Great Sea calls.

It is has gone down in many books of lore,
Harbor of Men, Harbor of Gondor.
Last of several ports in Gondor's land,
Its fair people walked upon its sand.

The third age came you were laid bare
Of your ships and your people so fair
At the end of the age came Gondor's wane
You then endured a great pain

And I ask thee now,
Oh people where art thou?
And I ask thee now,
Oh where art thou great ship's bow?

I walk you once more,
You are different from before.
Your streets are uncared ,
The stones are laid bare.

Though you are still great,
The days have come late.
Only a trifle of your people remain,
In the Ruin of Gondor, of its decay.

A threat there is to the south,
Upon and in Anduin's mouth.
The Corsairs are coming, the Corsairs are here,
Throughout your city, there is great fear.

Elessar came at last with an army of ghosts,
This army alone destroyed the Corsair hosts,
And made safe Pelargir, and its wall,
And now I can hear the white gulls' call.

In this time, in this fourth age,
I walk your streets again, it has set the stage,
or you to retrun to glory renewed,
of the sky and of the water's blue.

By Cristhegir

The Winds of Pelargir


As you enter Gondor's domain.
And the rain is falling.
No echoes from the Man Bane.
The fair boats are calling.

But they will not return in years.
The Havens are forgotten now.
They will not suffer many tears.
Unless they see will thou!

The gulls are screaming.
They do not fear!
It seems like they're dreaming!
But Pelargir, they're always near.

Pelarigir, yes, the Haven are great.
One of the defence of Gondor, yes.
But Pelargir shows also Gondors fate!
But Gondor always think it's less.

Pelargir always called the 'greatest'.
But Eärnur the King.
Always rebuilt it latest.
And of Pelargir, there always was one thing.

Gondor not seemed to care.
Mighty Pirates sailed in.
A battle suddently was there.
And the Pirates fought 'those without skin'.

Deadly the battle of Pelargir was.
But not for the Dead!
Aragorn Elessar with no loss.
Many Pirates died instead.

Then, Pelargir showed its greatness.
Gondor failed not, because of the Haven.
Then since the first stood, The Faithless.
There has always been birds and even raven!

By Oyvind

At Pelargir


At the ancient haven of Pelargir, Southrons massed their fleet
while swiftly rode the King's Grey Host; in dark day did they meet.
Gleaming swords and misty fear were weapons of the Dead;
Corsairs fell, their ships torched black, below a sky of smoky red.

A port that fell to Haradrim once would not fall again,
the Dead Men wielded violence, the black ships did they rent.
In victory the king stayed true and relieved them of their curse;
his deeds were recorded in verbose prose, immortalized in verse.

As the men looked back upon the burning docks and shores there rose a thought.
Was this not once the great haven of Pelargir, or so the lore-masters taught?

By Lambemaica

Ode to Prince Imrahil


Tall the ivory towers climb,
Towering o'er the grasslands rolling,
Wide and empty in the soft wind blowing,
Like waves of a lonely sea.

Black tides come the green grass sweeping,
But still the pennants fly free.

Tall the soldiers march behind
The Silver Swan in the last light gleaming,
Their hearts upraised with darkness streaming,
Over the verdant plain.

Black tides come the green grass sweeping,
And singing yet they came.

Tall the Lord of Amroth rides,
With gilded banners fair unfurled,
To meet the ending of the world,
One hundred leagues from home.

Black tides come the green grass sweeping,
'Neath the gates he bids them come.

"Amroth for Gondor!" loud he cried.
And thundered through the crashing tide,
To pluck the black ill-fated dart,
That cast darkness o'er Gondor's heart.

"Amroth for Gondor!" he sang with pride,
And dropped with gentle care beside,
The sheildmaiden and found hope's breath,
Still proudly stirring in her breast.

"Amroth for Gondor!" tall he stood,
In stead of both the King and Lord.
When despair on wings and hearts did flutter
And the Black Hand made Great Gate shudder.

Tall stood fair Prince Imrahil,
Unwavering as Dol Amroth's towers,
Against the crashing waves that hour,
Of the faithless Enemy,

Black tides come the green grass sweeping,
But still the pennants fly free.

By Acabar

Imrahil's Dreaming of a Swan in Flight

Harken to the Prince with the sea grey eyes
In the Cove of White Ships where he does reside
And none of his people are fading from here
As he watches them from the Tower of Tirith Aear

And Imrahil stands on the promontory at ease
As the flags of blue and white ripple in the breeze
And he wonders if there is an end to the seas
And what the edge of the world looks like when you are sailing

And did Nimrodel stumble through the Door of the Night?

Harken to the Prince with heart heavy as the tide
In the Cove of White Ships where he does reside
His thoughts go far beyond on a whimsical ride
Melancholy as the land where his daughter is bride

And Imrahil stands on the promontory at ease
As the flags of blue and white ripple in the breeze
Where the crash of foaming waves end all miseries
And even Princes are left with dreams of sailing...

Did lost Nimrodel stumble into dark from the light?

Prince Imrahil's dreaming of a swan in mid flight.

By Naith Liathant

For the Prince


(as spoken by Angbor, lord of Lamedon)

"Hold the tide at Gilrain," thou saidst to me
And by my oath I swear to thee
We'll hold though the sun should leave the sky.
'Tis here we'll die
If the end must come far from thy side
Where in happier days I fain would bide
On the hunt, or in feast, or in princely hall,
At your beck and call.
Like an ancient king, you rule your folk,
Defy with grace the Dark Lord's yoke
And thy banner has flown on many fields
Thou'llt never yield.
Oft Elven-sight thy wisdom graced
For they say thou art sprung of Eldar race
Which all may see in thy princely mien
And grey eyes keen.
So 'gainst our foes thou fortified
Dol Amroth, and all the havens plied
With high sea-walls and ships of war
And weapons' store.
Now Umbar's sails in the dark I spy
And the doom of Men is drawing nigh
Yet we'll fight for thee til the havens burn
Or the king's return.

By Tinw

Hush be the Voices

Henneth Annûn

Sweet scent of pinon pine
Water's rush e'er tumbling
Past forbidden pools and
On the rocks a - rumbling
Homely comes the blatant
Edge, beneath the slate grey
A crimson smear indulgent
Holds the clouds in sway

Softly tread the moss strewn
Paths of forest trail unwinding
The river plays Ulmo's tune
Upon the stone of Aule its finding
Ear pricked to subtle hum
Of insects wings a - fluttering
Heart that beats a heavy drum
Audible beneath the stuttering

Hidden refuge dank and wan
Pitch treated wood illuminates
Silent glow behind veiled screen
Flame that gradually dissipates
Spoken word ghostly echoing
Above the voice of gentle rivulet
Hesitant ranger, lonely, sings
From Window of the Sunset

By Naith Liathant

Window of the West


A figure proud and tall
Stands before a waterfall
The Window of the West
Watching the sun set
Watching the world fall
At the Window of the West
Seeing dusk encroching
and light slowly retreating
Seeing beauty fading
and dark things begin creeping.

He remains tall and strong
Like men from olden song
With figure proud
Though quiet, loud
Facing the worlds wrongs

The rock is tall
The mountain great
That forms the worlds' west-most gate.
The view is clear
As hope and fear
When watching from the west-most gate.

The dark advanced,
But so, by chance, have the stars of grace;
Standing there, as in a trance, they light his noble face.

Under the moon that lights the way
To secret carverns of old days,
Fear is dissolved by pure starlight.

The thoughts that have oft roamed his mind,
Of fear, and hope, and peace in time,
Are possible once more
Here at darkning door,
Here by fountains roar,
Here, at The Window of the West.

By Morie

Henneth Annûn


Sleep,
Sleep well,
The stars gleam bright,
Over the Tower of the Sun,
Like peace woven in the blanket of night,
Spread by hands unsung.

Sleep,
Sleep well,
Dark forest deep,
Enshrouding mysteries.
Leafy curtains your secrets keep,
Hushed whispers on the breeze.

Sleep,
Sleep well,
Fair noble soul,
A battle's respite won,
Safe within the ancient hill.
The day's gold the river spun.

Sleep,
Sleep well,
Where moonlight chimes,
Wash weariness away,
And harp strings shimm'ring notes divine,
In the Western Window play.

By Acabar

The Enterance of Two


Way fair, way great.
Gondor assialed the windows fate.
Merry around, merry inside.
Merry always, merry to abide.
The stone of the fair o' land.
There were water, but no sand.
Fair winter, never cold.
Land of trees, never bold.

The corner of Gondor, fair as well.
This is heaven, if exists does hell.
A Sun is setting, a Window from West.
And this will always be Gondor's best.

Annûn won't fade, as Gondor may.
Annûn is always the place for hay.
A sundering for elves, a gathering for men.
The Sun is up there, before the hen.
A Sun is shining, miles away.
But Annûn for Gondorians will always stay.
However, the fall of the Annûn prevail.
That we all Gondorians should 'Hail!'

Henneth Annûn, Window of the West.
Shows Gondor from the side that is best.
Annûn shall live, ages through.
And the forest should be revealed for you...

By Oyvind

Earnur the lost

Evening came as the beginning of my ending.
After all, who could have predict such act of bending.
Restless am I in this shadowy myst,
Nothing could save me from the Dark Lord's fist.
Unless my mind floats out of this rotten place,
Return to the mountains of Gondor I will never face.

Ever present in my mind is the day of my foolish anger,
All have seen the enemies strenghth, but I was blind for danger.
Roar of the damned I could hear as I approached the Black city,
Negleckted had my friends become, but I simply felt no pitty.
Up and down through the path of my doom I marched,
Risking my entire kingdom at the enemy gates i charged.

Earnur you once called me, but now I am just a ghost;
Anduin the great I see from this hideous, evil post.
Rescued I will never be, for I was arrogant and mindless,
Nurturing of the white city I left in a total mess.
United will I be with my kingdom again,
Rest for sure my death will not be in vain.

By Earnur

Eärnur


A cold voice called your name,
As though in jest, a mere game.
His dark call you answered clearly,
Farewelling that which you love dearly.

Pride or courage?

That dark land, looming tall,
From where that lord gives his call.
The Gates creak open, inviting wide,
It's far too late to turn and hide.
Pride or courage?

Who knows what torments you endured,
Your shining helm now obscured.
Your life taken away by darkest hate,
Broken down what once was great.

What made you answer evil's call?
What made you go to your own fall?
Pride or courage, what made you his pawn?
What woke you before your final dawn?

By Cadiliniel

Eärnur last king of Gondor


Eärnur of the great, of the blood of Numenor,
Son of Eärnil, son of kings, great your line might be,
Less wisdom than heart of fire against the foes of Mordor,
Towards the mountains of Zephel Dauth for combat you'd go.

Was it your heart of fire that pushed you to the witch,
Or was it the lies and the taunts that prompted yea,
To leave Gondor be and fight, though wisdom the steward would beseech,
But to the gates of Minas Morgul you'd prefer to be.

Why did you go, when wisdomwas to you carefully told,
To leave Gondor for pride and let fate to your country be,
You were the last king in days of old,
As over the mountains your cries were heard with the Ulairi.

By Severinus Kail

The Legend of Queen Berúthiel

Flowing jet her tresses streamed,
Like a river of the moonless night,
Save for but the slend'rest gleam,
That shimmered starry silver-white.

Alike the sheen upon her face,
Which pale as moonlit marble shone,
Against the crimson grin that traced
Faint but e'er her lips upon.

All in black, the robes she wore,
But glimmering soft with silver light,
As if by dwimmercraft she were
Cloaked in the very shades of night.

And no emeralds, the legends say,
Ever cut the hand of Enerdhil,
That glittered in fore or after days,
Like the eyes of Queen Berúthiel.

No word nor song, not fair, nor fell,
'Twas said, that any tongue could name,
Could break the power of their spell,
That leapt and danced like living flame.

And those who held her gaze too deep,
Could not if any darkness dwelled
Within their hearts, their secrets keep,
But to her gaze were fast compelled.

And those who darkest lies concealed,
The whispers warned from town to town,
By the chains of wicked truths revealed,
Would be to her in thralldom bound.

And so none dared the gaze to hold,
Of the Lady of Osgiliath,
Each and all her Captains bold,
At her feet his eyes would downward cast.

Noble Ladies, and Lords as well,
Alike her company would spurn,
And from wicked plans, Berúthiel,
To yet more wicked plans did turn.

*******

One night beneath the Hunter's Moon,
The dark clouds flashed with searing light,
Crebains in the shadows crooned,
Gathered in the flick'ring night.

And when the morning sun arose
Upon the twisted limbs of yew,
And roses black, with dark, gnarled thorn,
That in her dreary garden grew,

There stood where never stood before,
Among the cypress' spidery web,
Tormented figures carved in stone,
Their features cast in looks of dread,

And mewing meekly at the feet,
Of the softly smiling Queen,
Nine sable cats were purring sweet,
And one that wore a pure white sheen.

But nowhere on the palace grounds,
Though searched the servants high and low,
A single palace guard was found,
Or the Captain with his mane of snow.

Nor ever came they home again,
Or to say it as the legends tell,
Not dressed in shapes of living men,
Returned to Queen Berúthiel.

But whispers rose alike their ghosts,
Wherever squealed the high-pitched cries,
Or padding paws the cobbles crossed,
Or glimmered pair of sneaking eyes,

And some say that the vengeful Queen,
With thirst unslaked for secrets deep,
With arts of ancient sorcery
Set her palace guard to sleep,

Trapped for ages evermore,
Their bodies cased in crumbling stone,
Their souls enslaved in feline forms,
Her spies, ever the night to roam.

And long the army of the night,
In terror kept the city held,
Until the King himself set right,
The evil of Berúthiel.

Imprisoned on a black-sailed ship,
Beneath the silver crescent's gleam,
With the seaward flowing tide she slipped,
Never again to be seen.

A cat was sighted at the prow,
Another the masthead adorned,
And 'tis said that as the north wind howled,
Upon its back a note of scorn,

Shrieking like a cornered cat,
Cutting like a sharpened swipe,
Leaping from a heart of black,
Vengeance swore into the night.

*******

So when Tilion's lamp is lit full bright,
And he with Menelvagor rides,
To stalk the circles of the night,
Hunting thither side by side,

When owlets in bare eaves are mourning,
And shivers leaf on bough and briar,
Take heed, my friend, this friendly warning,
And keep well and close your own hearth's fire.

Keep well and close to kind and kin,
Shun the howling voice of night,
Raise a warm and merry din,
To keep your heart and spirits light.

For on the swelling of the tide,
From whence beneath the sickle moon,
Her ghostly ship was seen to glide,
To wicked lands and far off doom,

The spirit of Berúthiel,
Cloaked in shadows and in mist,
They say then creeps through dale and dell,
In search of simple hearts to twist,

Unto her evil whim and will,
To work her wicked heart's reprise,
And slinking past your windowsill,
May be a demon in disguise.

Beware that mewing in the night,
And the shadow that the corner hides,
And eyes a-glowing emerald bright,
Glaring in the dark outside.

Beware what secret evils dwell,
In your secret heart inside,
For from the cats of Queen Berúthiel,
None can ever hope to hide

By Acabar

Queen of cats, and the damned.



Tell me puss,
What should fear,
I am queen of all I see,
Queen of hearts and tears,
Tell me puss,
Who plots against me,
Tell me of their dark treachery,
Tell me puss,
What I wish to know,
Tell me where the courtiers go,
Tell me of their secret hearts,
Give me power over all parts,
Tell me puss,
Of who loves who,
Of what the say,
and what they do,
Tell me puss,
Do they like me,
Do they fear me,
Do they wish to kill me,
Tell me puss,
Do voices speak in the dark,
Do they try to take my throne,
Tell me puss,
Would they wish me dead,
Do they plot to take my head,
Tell me puss,
Are we too deark hearted,
Do we seek to hard to control,
Are we doomed to fail,
Tell me puss,
Are we living our last hope,
Do they know of our spying eyes,
Is our fate upon us.
Tell me puss,

Can you swim.

By Isil Monungol

Beruthiel


Lady tall, dark and cold,
Ten cats had she in her fold.
Nefarious they called her oft,
Though 'pon a throne she sat aloft.

In city old she hid away,
From sea and breeze and breaking day.
Forth she sent eighteen black eyes,
Fearsome creatures, unknown spies.

To spy on them she sent the white,
Following each as a shadowy light.
Away they set her, on one lost boat,
With all her cats to forever float.

Who knows now where she sails,
Drifting amonst the distant wails.
Beruthiel tall, dark and cold,
Ten cats had she in her fold.

By Cadiliniel

Queen Berúthiel

There was a story written like none before,
Of a girl as a woman that royal dress wore.
Her picture in a book has forever faded
For all have felt nothing but hatred.

In the rule of the second, yet first;
That girl, that woman had nasty, repulsive thirst.
It is said she wasn't loved, but also no love she gave;
In front of her stone creatures no one have ever felt brave.

The history tells in summer residenze did she dwell,
The Ship-King looked at her like she had from some dark place fell.
Suspicion spinned around her like the circle of solitary,
The sight of seeing her out of her chambers was something extraordinary.

A Black Queen had a mighty army, of two kinds:
One was the army of Gondor, and one that could read minds.
Scared were the people from the ten tiny hoods;
Nine were acting as spies and one to control their moods.

But as we all know, we will run into our destiny,
Same as Black Queen did, liberating Gondor from her tirany.
There was a story written like none before,
Of a girl as a woman that royal dress wore.

By Earnur

The Cats of Ten


Cats and Queen, they were all great.
And under the shadow of Gondor's sealed fate.
The Land near to Shadow.
A land with might!

The Queen, spying, always there.
The guys and lass of Gondor
she always knew where.
The cats watched her servants as well.
And no living man is able to tell.

A person with hate, a person with sorrow.
Not even ready for the upcoming 'tomorrow'.
She was watching every day.
And the Gondorians ready to obey.

Only and might, she indeed was.
No exception.
A mighty Gondorian indeed.
And for her country she, and even the cats would bleed!

By Oyvind

Queen Berúthiel


The wonders of this mighty queen lie in her favorite creature,
They walk around on four legs and have a flexible feature.
Desiring evil to every thing good, they see,
Elves and men and all that is good, to be,
Food for them to play.
The mighty queen upon her did lay,
Her mighty felines of Old,
Who were more wicked than the average thane untold.
Between the elves and dogs and men,
They hated dogs the most then.
They feared the power of their deeds,
And feared the products of their seeds.
The queen over these mighty creatures,
Who had very dangerous features,
Had fame untold, of death to all
That stood in their stinking hall.
Proud and tall and darkness lair,
Her head was covered like black, jet hair.
She wore the crown of Morgoth's wrath,
She wondered at men's uncertain path.
Why they helped her enemies drear,
But still she brought them to castle drear.
The wonders of this mighty queen lie in her favorite creature,
They walk around on four legs and have a flexible feature.
Desiring evil to every thing good, they see,
Elves and men and all that is good, to be,
Food for them to play.
The mighty queen upon her did lay,
Her mighty felines of Old,
Who were more wicked than the average thane untold.

By Cruel Gorthaur

The Paths of the Dead

The road is long
And there is less and less time.
Hear this song
About the deeply hidden shine.

If the group of brave creatures
Was to reach the Gondor flame;
They had to take the mountain path
For they would never wanna live in shame.

The mountain is strong
But the exit is near:
It whistles no merry song,
It speaks only of fear.

With the edges sharp
And narrow like blades;
This valley breeds deeply
And creates the living shades.

It starts in Dunharrow,
It dies in Erech myst:
It has the deadly shadow,
It behaves like a beast.

Everyone that looked upon the huge black rock
Never again appeared in its warm bed.
They lived through the terror, delusion and shock,
At least this is what is used to be said.

When prophet Malbeth spoke of the hideous curse,
He mentioned Isildur's name and the White Mountains.
The army that betrayed him felt something even worse
Than the destruction of their soul's lanterns.

This army was dead,
With the bodies cast away;
Living in the paths of the dead
and never returning to clay.

The entrance is Dimholt
To their treacherous palace.
They keep their dark secrets in forgotten fort,
Where lies nothing but malice.

The path hides many bodies
Of noble and ordinary men:
Many of them still fighting
With the ghosts into whom they ran.

The river, the dust, a dry air...
It is a habitat for those
Who refused to obey.

Some other time, some other dimension;
Where no symbelmyne could ever raise.
There is simply no human connection
With the dark and forgotten maze.

By Earnur

The Paths of the Dead

The way is dark, and deep, and cold
Haunted by whispers, echoes of old
Dead men tread these paths, so they say
And even the brave dare not come this way

The torch will fail you, the flame will die
Smoke remaining will cloud your eyes
For even it cannot escape the darkness here
Made even deeper by courageous men's fears

Here the air is close, breath comes at a price
The blood in your veins is chilled cold as ice
The echo of your heartbeat seems loud as the storm
And it seems as if 'tis here where all evil has been born

Tread carefully, oh brave one, be you elf or man
Things lie here that greater have been unable to withstand
Fallen warriors line the way, at your very feet
'Tis said that they are waiting, the unsuspecting for to meet

The way is shut, and yet you come, only you know why
Past the graves of ages past, where the dead men lie
Hold onto your hope, I charge you, beg Illuvtar's grace
For it is all that you may have in this long forsaken place

By Ibiralian





The Paths of the Dead

Dark is the road the living wont tread,
shadowed the trail we cannot wed,
wending through lost hope and greed,
trapped by the power of treachery's creed.

Bound by a King with honor and power,
dooming cowardly men who did shiver and glower,
refusing leige call at darkest hour,
damning these ghosts now dour.

When called again these wraiths of men,
did issue forth against hope and ken!
They broke their manacles, shattered their chains,
passing to lands where the light alone reigns!

By Benthand

The Paths of the Dead

Wind howls through me swift and cold
Evil has ruled me since the days of old
Walk through my gates and gaze into shear black
But be wary, for their are spirits at your back
I am beheld by a king of death
Behind him stands an army which will steal your breath
Once there was a time when strangers came
They made a deal which earned great fame
The ruler of the spirits soon was gone
To fight for a ranger who came from the north
Here i sit still to this day
lonley and barren, why not come and stay?

BY Morbenion

The White City

Though the leagues are many,
That separate me from my home,
It lingers still close in my heart,
No matter how far my feet roam.

Though the road seems to stretch,
Forever onwards in an endless line,
Bright and constant in my mind's eye,
The White City softly shines.

I can see its seven walls circling,
Its white tower soaring high above,
Almost can I hear the many sounds,
Of the bustling citadel I love.

The smell of bountiful white flowers,
Unfolding in delicate blossom,
Lingers sweetly in my memory,
Reminding me of where I come from.

Though a palantír, I carry under my arm,
I need it not to receive a vision clear,
Of the place I always long to be,
Minas Tirith, the city I hold dear.

By Aralomiel

Cirion

An oath upon a hill
Among the evermind,
Thus born a league of men,
The greatest one could find.

A call sent far off;
For help and aid,
Against the Corsair enemies,
"Come if you can !", I said.

Cirion I am; the Steward twelfth
Defending the borders ever
But the realm did not grow
Nor become safer.

Yet Gondor was saved,
By my call to the north
Sent forseeing the storm;
There came Eorl riding forth.

A rout on the Calenardhon
By the Rohirrim
The Horns of Rohan,
First heard in my time

A tribute of land,
To one so Young,
Of that great deed,
Songs are still sung.

A league of men born
That was never forsaken,
For the oath of Eorl
For these deeds am I ever known...

By Ninque Elen

Steward Cirion

Upon the throne there sits a lord,
A ruler of many who was adored.
The twelfth to reign but never to own,
The silver crown or golden throne.

And in his time there was a battle,
From Balcloth who stole their cattle.
The dunedain were sent into action
But overrun, they just caused a distraction

For aid had been sought from those in the north
That they mount up and swiftly come forth
Cirion of Gondor stood alone
And needed their help to keep his throne

Great horns of north were all a blowing,
When in came Eotheod their horses flowing.
Down upon the flanks they crashed,
In the nick of time Balcloth thrashed.

Calenardhon had just been saved,
When Eorl the young, a promise he made.
For an oath of alliance he had sworn,
And in return the riddermark born.

By Tarkano

Cirion the Saviour

There was a land of darkness where good men dwelled
And fought, and cried and smiled and for their children cared.
When the tyrans came to take their fathers land
They did not think they would be buried in the river sand.
For an army was called upon from the northern parts,
And later they would be called again from the heights.
Where the Gondor failed, a steward thought of the solution,
Of how to dismantle a disguisting Balchoth pollution.
Cirion he was called, and was a proud heir to the western men,
He was the one who decided not to live in shamelles den.
The twelfth steward, or one of the mightiest ever
Created a mighty alliance that was to brake never.
Northen men were called to surpress the enemy power;
And it later showed, they came in the right hour.
Ciron was celebrated throughout the Gondor kingdom,
But that seemed not all of his wisdom.
As a gift for all the help and assistance they offered,
A leader called Eorl received land to help all that suffered.
It was then called Rohan or the horsemen's home;
Which was proudly blessed by the hand from the fair Cirion' throne.

By Earnur

The Sunset Tower


Annúminas, the Sunset Tower
Stronghold of the Dunedain
A city of might and of power
Annúminas, the Sunset Tower
Capitol of men most dour
But lost in North-kingdom's decline
Annúminas, the Sunset Tower
Stronghold of the Dunedain

Beside Lake Evendim she stood
Where dwelt the King of Arnor's folk
A city made of stone and wood
Beside Lake Evendim she stood
Home of men strong, proud and good
Who wore a star upon their cloak
Beside Lake Evendim she stood
Where dwelt the King of Arnor's folk

In Annúminas the Scepter lay
In the hands of Arnor's King
Though from its home it would away
In Annúminas the Scepter lay
'Till to Fornost it made its way
And then in Imladris dwelling
In Annúminas the Scepter lay
In the hands of Arnor's King

Annúminas, she lay alone
Until the King did come again
And in the North restore his throne
Annúminas, she lay alone
But now no longer on her own
For to the city life returned then
Annúminas, she lay alone
Until the King did come again

By Trey Andurandir

Annúminas


Once upon a clear blue sky
That blossomed over buds that bore
Spring's tender promise, you and I
Walked at ease on Twilight's shore,
And watched the silver fires dance
Upon the mirrored faces of
The snow-topped peaks, who turned their glance
Down from heaven's seat above
The gardens of Annúminas.

Once upon a golden sun,
We laughed upon a sward of green,
And watched the clouds and white sails run,
And twined our fingers, as we dreamed,
While wavelets lapped the marble steps,
And fluttered pennants on the breeze,
And distant bells the hours kept,
High beyond the linden trees,
In the towers of Annúminas.

Once upon a starry night,
We wandered on white stones aglow
With silver in the soft lamplight,
As shined the lanterns long ago
On Elvenhome, beyond the sea,
Sparkling on the foamy tide,
And on the moonlit hilltop we
Kissed where ever shall abide
Our hearts in fair Annúminas.

By Acabar

Annuminas

King Ellesar, he wondered far, to find the city of old.
Annuminas, tower of the west, of many stories told.
Of grandeur and splendour and all things now forgotten,
Ellesar found the land his fathers before had trodden.

He brought his kin far within, the ruins that did lay,
Upon the ground, they set to work, rebuilding throughout the day.
The day lead on, the weeks had passed, and many months to come,
Before the city once so gay, would shine anew for everyone.

Turrets and towers, were laced with flowers, and walls with trailing ivy,
Pigs and cows and horses galore were all put in the livery.
From the lake, a stream was made, to lead into the city,
never again, would the people of gondor, need to feel so firsty.

King Ellesar and Lady Arwen moved their home once more,
To spend their time in Annuminas was nothing like a chore.
The perfect touch, came soon enough, as children began to play,
The sound of laughter, within the walls, filled their hearts, Hooray!

By Tarkano

Glory and shame

It was long time ago, when darkness ruled the world...
That many glorious men survived and reached the eastern shore.
Highest king in both directions, Elendil was he;
He had seen the river, the lake and the mountain,
And there he declare to be his city.

Of all the cities from ancient time, least had been told
About the Arnor capital, that lived for thousand years or more.
Glory of its standing walls and of its people proud
Are nothing more than melody that swings into our ears.

Baranduin was path to connect the ancient tribes,
But its most likely to have caused the fall of Annuminas.
Its dry summers and wet winters were the reason for alarm,
When no one came from outer world, no one could go out;
When friends were gone and couldn't reach Lake Evendim,
An Enemy came across the forest road to destroy what was left.

As ancient as the city, the ancient were the things it guarded;
The sceptre and the stone were those, from west they survived.
Men were stubbern, so they lost the seeing stone,
Which fell into the deep along with royal core.
But the sceptre was kept by immortal hands of elves
Until the day came when it was returned to build the city again.

West tower, as it was later called, a name different carried
When pronounced through the voice of the elven lord.
The city was a guard for an Evening Twillight,
But what good it brought to its dwellers,
Even today is unknown.

For two thousand years it has been a ghost city:
Abandoned by men, elves, and beasts.
Now a different story goes around it:
That it became Lord Aragorn's new home.

By Earnur

My Journey thus far

As I wander through the gardens and the world inside my mind,
I find myself at home, with those I left behind.
For a journey I would take unto a land that was unknown,
I took my precious memories and set out all alone

I bid farewell to those I loved and set upon my way,
The pack I held upon my arm would see me through the day.
Yet as I walked on through the trees, I felt I'd left behind,
All I was and used to be within my childish mind.

I left my father far away, with my youth of long ago,
To find new dreams and memories, along with tales of woe.
Yet as I turned to walk away, my heart began to break,
For despite his love and tenderness, this step I had to take.

I wander through the forest paths and look unto the sky,
I know it's right and needed now, yet still I start to cry.
The further I walk, the more fear I have, of being all alone
The white city now is in my sight and soon to be my home

Across the fields where blood has spilled and many wars were fought
My journey to my new life starts and soon my heart is caught.
For as I enter through the gate, welcome arms embrace
Deep inside my mind I know, that this is now my place.

I wander through the city's streets in search of where to start.
I come with nothing but my dreams, with which I shall not part.
My faith will rule and I will seek, and find where I belong
The choice I made was one of will and it shall not be wrong

I found a place in which to rest and slowly did I speak,
To those who warmly welcomed me, yet knowledge they did seek.
Of how I came to be a part, of this city young and free
Now they are the ones I hold, so near and dear to me

Some time has passed and thus I find, that this is now my home,
Although Ithilien holds my heart this is where I roam.
My father writes and tells me tales of kin so dear to me,
Which I sit and read upon a seat, beneath the great white tree.

By Tiana

Beregond

These are days which try the very heart of men
Days in which those who are strongest may bend
So it has come to this, what we for so long
Have feared would be the trumpet's song

But the moment I face is a moment I despise
How can I kill this man, looking in his eyes
I know what I must do, I know this is my test
I see not how I can forgive myself, no less

And when the king comes, I will be true
I will tell him I had no choice but to do
What I had to, you know, in duty's defense
And now I shall face the consequence

The moment around me lingers, as though
It clings to the air, not wishing to go
As if I have lived an eternity in it
Ages have passed, inside this one minute

As the battle rages around me, I feel
That whatever blow the enemy may deal
That which I have done to myself will be
The thing which echoes on forever in me

This deed will ever come to mind
In whatever peace I will try to find
It is this deed I shall ever rue
Though I did what I had to do

By Ibiralian

An ode to be Beregond

From the vales of the White Mountain, of Lossarnach I come,
To Ithilien where my heart lies, my work is never done.
Beregond, Son of Baranor, true friend to the prince Faramir,
Father to Bergil and Borlas as well.

I travelled to Minas Tirith, for there I would dwell,
Under the heart of the great Citadel.
To guard and obey the lord on the throne,
To capture my heart was done by one alone.

Faramir, Faramir, why does thy father denounce thee,
Faramir oh Faramir, why do you renounce thee?
Boromir has gone and you cannot replace,
The blowing of the horn or swinging of the mace.

The third guard of the citadel, defender of my liege,
I slayed 3 men of gondor in the name of grief besieged.
To hold them back and stop them burning,
Poor Faramir, for whom my love was yearning.

Then Gandalf came and eased my pain,
By casting down those, who would have you slain.
Consumed by guilt and often shame,
I guarded the healers and their domain.

Thus with grief and despair, I rode to the gate,
To bring down the one, who created such hate.
At last I did falter and crashed to the floor, but
Pippin the halfling, rescued me from deaths door.

At last the evil had been cast down and banished,
And years of rebuilding, would lie ahead for the parish.
King Ellessar did take the throne,
And announce my punishment, he did alone.

For the killing of men on hallowed ground,
I was banished from the guard, that had so much renown.
To dwell in Emyn Arnen, till the end of my days,
To serve my lord Faramir, was the way I was repaid.

To be Captain of the white company, is now my only task,
To protect and to serve, whatever he asks.
Faramir prince of Ithilien, steward in this realm,
I give you my life, my sword and my helm.

By Tarkano

A loyal Son of Gondor

Hear now the tale of Beregond the brave!
Sang the bard in his voice loud and clear,
Who risked his duty and his life,
And saved his Master the Prince Faramir.

He risked his duty to save a life,
And saved the Prince from the Madness.
He risked his honour; blood was spilt,
But he wavered not from his righteousness.

Brave was he and stout of heart,
Not even in death would he with loyalty part.
He was a soldier of Gondor.
Do himm proud with your deeds everyday,
My men, honour him as you may.
For he was a loyal son of Gondor.

Proud in bearing he fought for the City,
To the black land he marched in the War of the Ring,
His courage and valour in the battle shone,
For this was he pardoned and honoured by the King

Justice was done by Elessar Telcontar,
Appointed as the Captain of the White Company,
He lived to the end of his days,
In fair Ithilien as one of the Company.

Brave was he and stout of heart,
Not even in death would he with loyalty part.
He was a soldier of Gondor.
Do himm proud with your deeds everyday,
My men, honour him as you may.
For he was a loyal son of Gondor.

A choice he had made long ago,
To obey blindly obey or follow his heart,
To obey the madness of one Master,
Or to save one who should not part.

A choice you too may face on day,
To obey a maddened will or your own mind,
Then keep the tale of Beregond at heart,
For in this tale will you courage find.

Brave was he and stout of heart,
Not even in death would he with loyalty part.
He was a soldier of Gondor.
Do himm proud with your deeds everyday,
My men, honour him as you may.
For he was a loyal son of Gondor.

Rest in peace, Son of Gondor. . .

By Ninque Elen

Traitor


Would you then betray your post?
Abandoning Citadel gates,
Ignoring the advancing host
And leaving us to face our fates.

Would you slay your peer and kin?
Using force when words must fail,
Striking down the doorwarden
And gaining entry, you prevail.

Would you then defy your Lord?
Fighting servants, both unarmed,
Killing them despite his word
Keeping his son from being harmed.

But would you then report your deeds?
Facing judgment, taking blame,
Accepting penalties, as needs,
And facing death and sullied name.

Should we call you traitor, then?
Doing what you knew was right,
Heeding not the laws of men
And acting virtuous, despite.

Would that there were more like you!

By Hoyamir

Song of Beregond


I was the Captain of the Guard
That fateful day
When your father bore you away
To Raith Dinen, The Houses of the Dead
To burn you and himself
Because he was mad
I killed the doorman to get to you
I held off servants to save you
I should have lost my life because of that
But instead I was sent away
To be Captain of the White Guard
Protectors of Faramir Lord
To live out my days with my son
In the comfort of Ithilien

By Elessil Narsil





The Tale of Minas Ithil

Elendil and his sons,
travelled far, to build new homes.
Towers they raised, up tall in the sky,
So that with the stones, they could espy.

They built the realms, of the free,
and filled them with folk full of glee.
A new beginning, the freshest of starts,
to heal the sinking, of their hearts.

Huge great cities they built with fame
to house the people of the Edain.
Towers of might and Towers of strength
were raised in pride, so they could see, far and wide

On Ephual Duath Upon a ledge
they built a Tower as they pledged.
They made it from marble, shiny and clean
and named it Minas Ithil, and so it gleamed

A home for Isildur, the tower of the moon,
a sapling he planted, below his room.
A token sign from Numenor,
stolen in love for the one he adored.

To show that evil could not prevail,
they travelled west upon a sail.
And in their hearts they hoped in vain,
that the evil destroyed, wouldn't come again.

Minus Ithil and Anor aswell,
two great Towers, guarding their peril,
to watch the land of shadow, their task,
to watch the evil that grew, from the past.

Tower of the moon, a shining light,
a sight from afar, to those who would fight.
The evil that had followed them long ago,
had risen once more, and announced his foe.

Minas Ithil, Tower of the moon,
within its walls was a true heirloom.
Of heirs of Numenor with sight so far,
they saw the danger from black Mordar.

It shone of white or silver light,
so they called it Ithil, after the moon in the night.
Maidens sang of all its beauty,
and men came forth, to protect, their duty.

In days gone past the marble tower stood,
all white and shiny, ever for the good.
Flowers and bushes adorned the streets,
to pave the way for Gondor's feet.

Alas Minas Ithil, shines no more,
For Sauron broke down its wooden doors.
Now it stands all pasty white,
and houses the evil and darkest might.

Minas Ithil stands no more,
just a distant memory of what was before.
Before the Witchking and his crew arrived,
and named it Minas Morgul, where the soul-less abide.

No longer peaceful and fair of face,
It is now a feared and evil place.
Torment and Torture can be heard,
from the screaming Nazgul, and their herd.

Once great kings of Numenor, now twisted by greed,
Slaves to the evil one that fulfil his needs.
The Tower of sorcery, home of the dead,
A place for the evil, and good to dread.

What began with the skill of the Edain,
Is now just a Tomb, for those who aren't named.

By Tarkano

Over Minas Ithil

When the night is dark
As it always is here
When evil is so close
There is no room for fear

When the path lies silent
And all is dead and still
You may hear the stars weep
Over Minas Ithil

The tales are no longer told
Forgotten all too soon
Since the shadow fell
On the tower of the moon

The city crumbles now
And there is no one left to see
How the moon has fallen
Into dark sorcery

And a faded echo lingers
In the shadows cast
By the tears of Telperion's light
Like an echo of the past

When every small remainder
With darkness has been filled
You may know that night has fallen
Over Minas Ithil

So long before our yesterdays
We have forgotten now
The treasure that we lost
Few speak the name aloud

All that's left is the silence
Carried along with the flight
Of the haunted wind flung onward
By the dark cloak of the night

The clouds are coming again
Over the distant hills
And there will be no moon tonight
Over Minas Ithil

By Ibiralian

The downfall of Minas Ithil

The moon on one side reflects cold and gray,
A tower corrupted by power not long kept at bay.
A city once visited by the weary and worn,
Now stands as a sign for beggars to scorn.
If any should tread on its soil once so fertile,
Like leaving are they Melains mighty Griddle.

Battle once did ring in this city now dead.
The head of the king, at his foot, blind and red.
Songs of great sorrow from the south and the east,
Words said for mouths that sadly did cease.
What tragedy did come for men of good will?
Why punishment so great for people now still?

Seasons do break and children do grow,
Life taken so quickly by arrow and bow.
Time will erase all creases of doubt
But never forget good friends, on your route
That power is glory when cities stand stout.

By Cilicar

The battle of Pelenor Plain


The witch king sits on his throne of stone,
Haughty in grandeur but dead in spirit.
A dull flash creeps from beneath his cloak,
Armament for battle, fear of fears
So it begins.

Across the river, city white with stone.
Men do they fear for life and soul.
The king shall return though hope be slim,
Till then no joy shall come to men.
So they prepare.

He rises now and takes his leave.
Black breath follows him like death a sick man
His servants they clamor, for fear of his wrath.
Walking like floating, fear of fears.
So it begins.

Horses they ride like thunder in day,
Ride with kings among men.
Paths of the dead, wide plain now tread.
Trees now restless keep wizard in stone.
So they prepare.

He mounts now his steed a black bat of night,
With eight of his comrades he takes to the air.
Screeches ring forth from these king of ill will.
Armies of darkness move silent and quick.
Now armies collide.

Horsemen from west stand still with their rides.
Great evil before them shreds not their spirits.
These men are the bravest with dark sea before them.
Sun stirs behind them their blood sings in rage.
Now armies collide.

Both kings do they beckon, the dammed and the living
Armies collide in the war of all wars.
Men from the south, east west and north
And as it began now does it subside.
On the bloody field.

Women do mourn and men do cry.
They turn over dead clothed in armor and hide.
Swords lay broken and steeds steeped in sweat.
Evil has fled and darkness now shade.
On the bloody field.

So now good friends let me recap this tale,
When it began both armies moved forth
They collided by, armies dammed by ill will
And again now It now ended on the bloody field.
On the bloody field

By Cilicar

Finduilas, the free spririt.

I longed to fly when gulls I saw,
I longed to feel the salt wind blow,
I longed to walk in the water of Belfalas,
I longed to feel the sun's warm glow.

"Finduilas! Finduilas!"
I can hear the sea calling;
"Where art thou now ?
Locked within the walls of thy White City!
Free as a bird you once were,
Let not thy spirit wither!
Fly away, thou free spirit,
Fly away, to the land of thy fathers,
Fly away. and be at peace!"

And though I longed,
To soar away in the sky,
My feet were bound,
To these very halls,
To Minas Tirith,
To Denethor's stone walls.

I withered, they say,
Like a lily on a rock,
But my spirit could never ever be locked.
With each passing day,
My body withered,
But my spriit flew higher,
Ever to the Sea.

And them I came upon a secret,
Which came to me after a day,
That despite the stone walls,
In which I lived,
My sprirt could still be free,
I could still be free.

By Ninque Elen

The Sorrow of Finduilas

Sister and daughter of Prince's,
Yet princess she'd never be.
She married the steward of Gondor,
For love and the land of the free.

A gentle heart surrounded by beauty,
to play the harp was her only duty.
Until she wed the son of Ecthelion,
and left Dol Amroth, for a life near Ithilien.

A splendorous land full of colour,
a place where she, could stand and holler!
To scream aloud, and drown the sound,
Of all her pain and so much sorrow.

She bore two sons, strong and proud,
Yet all her love was not allowed.
For these were Stewards in the making,
And so her heart began its breaking.

Denethor, a father of one,
Ignored the love for his other son.
Faramir looked onto his mother,
For all the love that he could plunder.

The shadow that grew consumed her heart,
And smote her soul like an evil dart.
Fear and dread was what she felt,
In Minas Tirith from where she dwelt.

She missed the sea in the bay of Belfalas,
And how the wind, bore them no malice.
For here upon the walls of the white city,
The wind would howl without no pity.

She watched her sons begin to grow,
And feared the evil from a stones throw.
The darkness spread across the land,
And Finduilas could no longer stand,
Her quaking heart within that land.

Once so joyful and full of grace,
She then fell ill and sick of that place.
Her smile no more could ever be seen,
For only her sons could ever redeem.

The laughter and light from deep inside,
The broken heart and tormented mind.
Slowly but surely she faded from life,
And only her sons could surmount the strife.

Denethor, his heart was forsaken,
when from this world his love was taken.
Despair and loneliness did take a hold,
and broke the man who was so bold.

For Finduilas, is never no more,
Never again shall we hear her call.
The stringing song from her golden Harp
That brought together so many a heart.

By Tarkano

To soar the heights.

Wither body of mine,
Heart be stopped in a moment,
My end I welcome.
I look to the skies,
The world outside these white walls,
To be one of the dovered doves,
A gull, free on the airs,
To soar the heights,

I will welcome death.

By Isil Mornungol

Finduilas


If ever there were a tale, of love and sorrowed tears,
It would be that of Finduilas, her joys, her sons, her fears.
A daughter of Prince Adrahil, Dol Amroth was her life,
Till she wed the Steward Denethor, and became his loving wife.

She left her home and family, to join him in the city,
Of light and love and happiness, so soon to turn to pity.
Two years of wedded bliss she lived, ere Boromir was born,
Yet still of home and sea she dreamt, oh how her heart was torn.

Five years she had with her young son, before she bore another,
In '83 Faramir arrived, for her elder child a brother.
But her heart longed for home, Dol Amroth and the sea,
Her longing was strong as she yearned to be free.

The shadow in Mordor grew fast and drew near,
Filling her mind with more longing, and fear,
She lost all her fire, the life and the joys,
That she had once shared, with her lord and her boys.

The loneliness came and depression took hold,
Of her once joyful mind and her spirit of old,
She withdrew from her loved ones, as life played with her mind,
What once had been fun, turned to chores and a grind.

Slowly but surely her happiness receded,
What Finduilas was, had all but conceded.
A sad lonely woman was all that remained,
When the death of a loved one was declared and then named.

The death of a loved one is a hard cross to bear,
As your life feels so empty and you know they're not there.
The boys learnt to cope, though they would not recover,
From the sadness and loss they felt for their mother.

But coping came not to Denethor 2,
As he saw in his son, his wife through and through.
His eyes, his smile, his whole personality,
An image of his mother, kept as reality.

The tale of Finduilas is one we all know,
A journey through life, through love and through woe.
But a life not wasted, nor surely in vain,
Through the people she touched, she lives once again.

By Tiana

The Anor Stone


What sought you, I wonder,
Who would compass all the sky,
And mountains, and trees under
A globe of crystal eye?

Was it pride or passion?
Was it bitter pain,
That such great jewels could fashion,
And such great power tame?

To the Isle of Gift they brought them,
A gift to Men to be.
Did he see their Doom, who wrought them,
When Men dared to cross the sea?

Did he see the Wave come crashing,
When the straight ways all were bent?
Did he see the lightning flashing,
When the Bliss of Men was rent?

To Middle-earth they brought them,
The jewels of Númenor,
Where the Sun was rising,
And the White Tree bloomed once more.

Circled in ivory towers,
The stone would shine again,
And fight through darkening hours,
Hope's glimmer to sustain.

Was it pride or passion?
Was it bitter pain,
That trapped the mind of Denethor,
When the Shadow rose again?

Black sails on the river,
Black clouds in the sky,
Lightning in the Tower,
And nowhere left to fly.

Did he glimpse, I wonder,
Who would compass all the sky,
Who all mysteries would plunder,
And peer in Mandos' eye,

Did he glimpse the wisdom,
Who would seek all else to find,
Of the peril of such vision,
To a desperate mind?

For those who hunt too closely,
Perils that yet loom,
May find that all too swiftly,
They capture their own doom.

And within the Stone of Anor,
All that now remai