The Torturing Passion For Light

by Muse of Madness

Fëanor, his life, his sickness, his curse. His tale interpreted through the prism of rebellion and freethought, for this madman of a genius deserves more than being defined only by the plain standards of good and evil.

I

Spasmodic inspiration

First- nervous shaking,

Then- creation.

When mind needs to ravish

When soul needs to lavish

Itself, to a fraction

Heart finds satisfaction

In constantly seeking

A truth and a way

Deliriously freaking

And ceaselessly fey.

To forge his own dreams

And bring them to life

This striving, it seems,

A double-edged knife.

His soul hypertrophy

Has shattered morality

And brought him too far

Away from normality.

Abnormal in Heaven.

Away from rest.

Here none could endure

The blaze in his chest-

So constantly seeking

A truth and a way

Deliriously freaking

And more and more fey.

No place for the seeker

Where truth is all found

And sometimes imposed.

As he is unbound

But he can't unbind,

Can't share with the blind

The unbearable weight

Of his merciless fate.

So one day atop

Of his knowledge and might

His fiery spirit

He carves into light.

II

"Come, seeker, do not stray

Accept my truth

And join me on my way!"

"Go, seeker, you will know

A land where roads don't end

And rivers stream and flow.

Where you will ponder

The depths of truth and beauty

And wonder after wonder

You will create."

Words that sting like ice

Or words that reek of lies?

He sees and feels the liar's greed

Yet truth and freedom does he need.

Attack; A short battle; Then eternal night

They ask him to shatter his portrait of light

A piece of himself to see wasted and dead

He says he'd dispose of his own flesh instead.

(Forgive them, them artists, them children in mind,

Contemptuous of flesh, they would leave it behind.

They'd lust for the ideal and their greatest thrills

Would seem to the eyeless like fighting windmills.)

A long minute passes, then - news of a murder

He was at the limit and now he is further.

He runs in the night but then shortly returns-

Gaze blindingly bright, his speech leaving burns.

Crowds gather around him, the light in the gloom,

He sets them on fire and leads them to doom.

The stars too bright, they die so young,

Yet songs of them we've always sung

A star too bright, an abyss cruel,

A star too bright with stolen fuel

They stole his life and broke his dreams

They soaked in tar his vital beams.

The tiny rocks around the star

Shall sense its fury from afar

And when the nova bursts, in turn,

They'll shake, they shall exhaust or burn.