Thursday, October 25, 2012

Poetry: Isildur's Bane

I have had no time to write or even think about my blog in the past few weeks thanks to lots of work deadlines and a bit of traveling. So, to fill up time, I present you with another old poem I wrote. This one recounts the story of Isildur, son of Elendir, and the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. It is not strictly canon in the Lord of the Rings universe, but that's alright: it's just meant for fun.

As before, I'm not a poet so forgive me if the meter, rhyme, or whatever is not quite right.

Isildur's Bane

Once upon a time long past
Until it vanished from sight at last
There was an old, dark tower
With raw and immense power.

Barad-dûr was its name
And it had always held its fame
Until defying understanding
It was left with no stone standing.

This tower once I saw
And I was filled with gaping awe
At its size and construction,
At its power for destruction.

Great evil lurked here
And nothing would go near
For fear of him
Of whom the Eldar seldom sing.

I shivered at the thought
Of by the tower being caught,
By the dreadful one inside
From whom no man can hide.

The sky grew dark and dreary
And I suddenly felt so weary,
When from the tower a sound
Of a siren shook the ground.

Arrows pierced the air
One almost glanced my hair,
I then realized my blunder,
For Sauron’s forces were strong in number.

In this newly created hell
All I could think of was Rivendell.
When suddenly all was still
As darkness covered every hill.

From the shadows came the one
From whom all mortals simply run;
I was paralyzed with fear
I could see my end was near.

On his finger he had a glowing fire
And I was filled with ardent desire
Of the ring he had in his hand;
That glowing, golden band.

I prepared for a fight,
Even in this little light
I will fight for that ring,
I will become the king.

I could not kill the immortal beast
I knocked it unconscious at least,
With the ring in fist
I looked at the vanishing mist
And saw an old friend
Who had now come at the very end
To warn me of this prize
On which I should not rely.

“Isildur, cast it into Mount Doom
Within the fires of the Cracks of Doom.”
Was his say
On that dark and cloudy day.

I refused; the ring was mine
For it was beyond fine;
I fled the lands and reached the river
When the moon was but a sliver.

Swimming north against the flow
I heard the sound of a bow,
For the ring had made me invisible
But now I was clearly visible.

The ring had me betrayed
And now I was afraid,
For the ring had caught my breath
Yet now caused my death.

As I sank to the river bed
The ring away was led,
As from my chest I bled
My blood, deep red.

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