Author's note : Even though I'm trying to take care of both Maeglin and
Celebrimbor at the same time (no easy job), Maglor just wouldn't leave me
alone, so I gave him a poem to feed on.
Talk about pushy Fëanorians.
I'll be working on 'Dusk', I promise, as soon as I get over some problems of mine.
Disclaimer: I don't own Maglor, nor anything about Middle-Earth. Sigh… The Great Creator Tolkien is the inventor of this world I like to play in.
The Singer
By Le Chat Noir
He sings beneath a star, walking the silver shore
For all blood that was lost to the flowing of tears
A shadow with a song and a darkness that tore
He mourns with guilty hands the passing of the years
His story is a tale of a fall from grace
A tale of a gift of a curse of a light
From day into sundown at a fast running pace
And the fire that sprang now dead but still burns bright
From the fairest of lands driven by proud madness
In the first night's glory rose a tune in the air
That spoke of hope and faith of loss of hope of faith
For not even the fire shall the fire spare
So again there he stands in the still aftermath
Of the crimson slaughter thrice a sword dripping blood
Wandering reddened seas and unknown foreign paths
Fighting to stay afloat under the hateful flood
An eternal culprit of deeds too fell to tell
Be for him no penance to end his lifelong sin
Yet that day already when first the shadow fell
Did he weep in his song for the fate of his kin
But before the mourner and before the warlord
There was the singer mighty in lost golden days
There were seven brothers the best of younger world
And lone on ocean's shore a grieving song he plays
Talk about pushy Fëanorians.
I'll be working on 'Dusk', I promise, as soon as I get over some problems of mine.
Disclaimer: I don't own Maglor, nor anything about Middle-Earth. Sigh… The Great Creator Tolkien is the inventor of this world I like to play in.
The Singer
By Le Chat Noir
He sings beneath a star, walking the silver shore
For all blood that was lost to the flowing of tears
A shadow with a song and a darkness that tore
He mourns with guilty hands the passing of the years
His story is a tale of a fall from grace
A tale of a gift of a curse of a light
From day into sundown at a fast running pace
And the fire that sprang now dead but still burns bright
From the fairest of lands driven by proud madness
In the first night's glory rose a tune in the air
That spoke of hope and faith of loss of hope of faith
For not even the fire shall the fire spare
So again there he stands in the still aftermath
Of the crimson slaughter thrice a sword dripping blood
Wandering reddened seas and unknown foreign paths
Fighting to stay afloat under the hateful flood
An eternal culprit of deeds too fell to tell
Be for him no penance to end his lifelong sin
Yet that day already when first the shadow fell
Did he weep in his song for the fate of his kin
But before the mourner and before the warlord
There was the singer mighty in lost golden days
There were seven brothers the best of younger world
And lone on ocean's shore a grieving song he plays