Arda

To J.R.R., your legacy continues to inspire and influence.

There are rolling hills here,

Along with whispering brooks

And haunted glens.

The skies are wide and free,

The land equally so,

Broad plains broken by tall mountains.

The mountains are made of iron,

Tall and black

Biting the sky.

Inside of them,

Lay treasures and dark things,

And their peaks are magical places.

They border the coast,

A shield and barrier,

Giving way for the blue seas.

And lands beyond,

Hidden by shrouds of mist,

New places, Undying places.


I must travel there,

Across the land,

Through forests and over and under hills.

Into caves and tunnels,

The bowels of the earth,

Holding the halls of people long since passed.

And into the sunlight once more,

Over fields and plains,

Broken and scarred by battle.

The rivers are like tears,

Cold and flowing,

Breaking into great and mighty white falls.

The way is hard,

The journey long,

But it must be done; I am the only one.

My burden great,

My burden small,

But a terrible burden for one to bear.

The darkness is near,

I can hear it whispering.


My legs grow tired,

My body protests,

But I cannot stop.

Over mountains,

Over crags,

Through canyons I go.
 
I brave dangers,

That few have faced,

Vile things from the blackest places in the earth.
 
My companions have long since scattered,

My sword and my shield,

And this quest are all that remains.

I crest the mountain,

My charge is near,

And my quest is nearly done.

Fire and doom awaits,

The mountain a spear of evil and smoke,

And then I snap back into reality; it was all a tale...

Author's Note

I wish I could live there.