an elegy
the Downfallen

A bright flame weaving pathways through velvet sapphire sky,
The Silmaril through the heavens towards the Mortal men would fly,
The Edain to the firmament would ever westwards gaze,
Through starlit glitter, moonlit sheen and celestial haze.

They gathered their children, their spouses and kin,
By the blanket of twilight, which enfolded them in,
Their eyes reflected softly the shimmer of the night,
And their ships set sail to the Promised Land of Light.

Sundered from the Undying Lands by ever flowing sea,
Never to cross the boundary that the Valar did decree,
Andor, the Land of Gift from the Gods, country ever bright,
The Edain by the light of Eärendil found in the cloudless night.

The Númenóreans they then became—the people in the haven,
Their history and writings upon great scrolls were graven,
And wise they grew in the ways of their land, abundant in its wealth,
Rich were the Kings and long life was had in ever increasing health.

The sands of time washed along the land, and Númenor grew in might,
The golden love of Valinor bathed them in its light.
The halls of kings and temples of Eru were hallowed by the Men,
How beautiful was the life and splendor of Númenórë then!

Yet a new King received the Sceptre so grand, the might of Andor grew,
Ar-Pharazôn the Golden—whose strength touched all but few.
And these were then the Faithful men, led by Amandil,
Who worshipped yet the Valar, and loved the Elven still.

But Ar-Pharazôn yet brooded, with wrath upon his face,
Shadows lay upon his throne; the ruler of the mortal race.
Neglected now was Meneltarma, no gifts to Eru brought,
And ever slowly the doom of Númenor was unknowingly wrought.

Back to the East these great men went, bringing weapons of might,
And the wild inhabitants of Middle-earth cowered at their sight.
For powerful beyond belief were these tyrants of yore,
And now their land is buried under the sea forever more.

A convoy led by Ar-Pharazôn the King, Conqueror grand and great,
Guided towards the desolate East, by the bitter hand of Fate,
Trouble and turmoil his people spread, frosty shadows did they make,
Assailing the realms of Middle-earth, turmoil in his wake.

Ar-Pharazôn then cried aloud with roar and rolling thunder,
The barren wasteland trembled and the hilltops broke asunder.
And Sauron from the depths of evil came from endless mire,
His eyes of fury burned the plains with ash and dust and fire.

Swearing fealty by cloak of menace, mirth did Sauron hide,
For blackness unforeseen by men, the Dark Lord veiled inside.
And passing as a cloud of darkness, flying o'er seas,
Darkness crept upon Númenor, spreading foul disease.

But Sauron's grip grew firm upon the King without defeat,
Dark whispers filled the Golden's mind—black thoughts full of deceit.
Neglected now was white Nimloth, no gifts of honour brought,
Impending is the doom that now Sauron's war winds wrought.

The resistance of the Faithful is stretched and icy thin,
The people under Sauron's glare turn only now to sin,
The cry of Valar in the West glance unheard from their ears,
And black night preys ever upon the Númenóreans fears.

Dark death looms ever overhead, eagles illumined in blood,
The vengeance of the Valar boils; Gods unleash their flood,
The crying of the Númenóreans pierce through the sunset air,
As thunder and the lightning strikes raise the silhouetted flare.

The Castle sets sail through the tempest, turbulent in hate,
Anger and Pride intermingled in One, challenging cruel Fate,
And Sauron's laughter flies aloft the winds, howling are its sounds,
And drums of the Valar deepen in wrath, its subterranean pounds.

The cries of horror and drums of fury reach tumultuous roars,
The oceans whirl in the Valar's anger; collapsed are the sea floors,
Overwhelmed is now the Castle, upon which the enemy rides,
And the upheaval that the Gods create swirls amidst the tides.

Sunken now is Númenórë, remnant of immortal gifts,
Which lies deep in unfathomed chasms, unhindered now from mortal rifts,
The proud race of men diminished to the Faithful evermore,
Elendil and his followers; the doom of Man they foresaw.

The lapping of the waves on shore, music in its speech,
What secrets now can the Men of Yore to the yonder shores teach?
Never shall their secrets spill, their lore is buried deep,
Under sea and under stone in ever slumbering sleep…

[Refrain]

Oh Númenor, the Downfallen, a bitter price your pride,
For gone now is the land of bliss—'tis swallowed by the tide.
And darkness now surrounds your grave, the whisperings of lies,
But now all that remains of you are endless oceans sighs…