Searching For Moonbeams Glistening

Disclaimer:

Tolkien, Tolkien, yes I'm blue,

these characters belong to you.

And even though I've changed the plot,

and possibly impaired your lot,

I really mean no disrespect,

although I write both slash and het.

To everyone heed what I mean,

The plot is mine, the rest, Tolkien's.

A/N: I don't own my disclaimer, either. McKenna Espenshade wrote it, and I love it!

Pertaining to the poem… Not my best work, but not my worst, either.

Quick!

There, behind that tree!

What?

You didn't see?

I think it was an elf.

I think—

You think too much.

You never do.

I do things.

You dream.

See, I do things.

Humph.

I know I saw it.

There was something there.

Something in the autumn air

That caught my eye—

Then tossed me back,

Like a fish,

Like a clear-finned fry,

No good for food.

But I was lucky,

All the same.

How many have seen?

How many have heard?

I hear.

It calls my name.

I want magic.

I know it's there.

I know it's in the morning fog,

And in the air that barely breathes

Before a storm.

It's in the waves that lap the shore,

The swiissh of leaves,

And in the lore—

The lure—

Of days of yore.

It hides.

It thrives.

It's everywhere,

Intangible,

Invisible,

Nary hide nor hair

To touch.

It has no look,

No taste,

No touch.

It has no age,

Neither back nor front,

No thought,

No time,

No place,

No love or rage.

No death, but there is a life.

One day, I'll find it.

I'll do the impossible,

And grasping at moonbeams glistening,

I'll find myself

Where I live within the secrets.

What's that on the windowpane?

A butterfly seeks shelter from the rain.

Open the window let it in—

A hush of wings against my palm,

A dash of secret I can hold.

The rain is gone,

I let it go.

Perhaps,

One day,

I'll find the magic.

For now,

I live.