When I awoke this morning, I had the most sorrowful vision in my mind of
Merry at the Pelennor fields. So I had to write about it! And I *had* to
listen to my favourite track on the Two Towers CD (Forth Eorlings) while I
wrote it. I don't know if it *did* rain, I forget -_-, but it did in my
vision, so, there you go, lol. Please give feedback! We is starving for
it, preciouss...
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Pelennor
I fall to my knees, into greyed grass,
I clutch at her pale hand and then hold it fast,
As if I could heal its terrible cold.
I feel so young, and far too old.
I throw back my head and gaze at the sky,
I stare at it's merciless dark and ask why,
I close my worn eyes, and the tears seep through,
Past my battle marred face, into grass that once grew.
The light of the sun comes, now, yellow and pale,
From the West, and it weaves a wavering trail,
For Shadows remain; light pours into dimness,
Shafts skirt the dark, fell best, and spread to us, listless.
A sound like the stampedes of muted ghost horses:
I realize the rain on my face as it courses,
I open my eyes now to gaze at the city,
Across the dead fields of bodies and pity.
An acute sense of helpless detachment appears.
I drink in my sorrow, and swallow my fears,
As a blackness seizes my sight and my spirit,
I cry out, and I fall, but there's no one to hear it.
Visions of beauty and light and sweet death,
They sweep through my senses, engulf my sparse breath,
When I wake I have traveled, I do not know where,
A familiar voice I clasp before despair.
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Pelennor
I fall to my knees, into greyed grass,
I clutch at her pale hand and then hold it fast,
As if I could heal its terrible cold.
I feel so young, and far too old.
I throw back my head and gaze at the sky,
I stare at it's merciless dark and ask why,
I close my worn eyes, and the tears seep through,
Past my battle marred face, into grass that once grew.
The light of the sun comes, now, yellow and pale,
From the West, and it weaves a wavering trail,
For Shadows remain; light pours into dimness,
Shafts skirt the dark, fell best, and spread to us, listless.
A sound like the stampedes of muted ghost horses:
I realize the rain on my face as it courses,
I open my eyes now to gaze at the city,
Across the dead fields of bodies and pity.
An acute sense of helpless detachment appears.
I drink in my sorrow, and swallow my fears,
As a blackness seizes my sight and my spirit,
I cry out, and I fall, but there's no one to hear it.
Visions of beauty and light and sweet death,
They sweep through my senses, engulf my sparse breath,
When I wake I have traveled, I do not know where,
A familiar voice I clasp before despair.