I don't own Lord of the Rings or any of Tolkien's works. This is just a
small tribute to a great writer and dreamer. This work of poetry belongs
to me, you may not use it for any reason with out my consent.
In the blackness night of I hear the calling.
I feel its tug at my spirit.
I can feel my soul's urging to answer back.
Rising from my bed I go to the window.
The moon is shining silver,
On the black clouds that billow below it.
My eyes search the sky,
Looking for that far off place.
Where the moon touches the stars.
A tear falls slowly down my face,
As I know there is no answer for this calling.
Returning to bed I can feel the emptiness.
My pillow becomes wet with my tears.
How can a love so pure,
Be so painful?
Lighting a candle I get the book from its place beside my bed.
If for but a moment the pain is gone,
As I turn the pages.
small tribute to a great writer and dreamer. This work of poetry belongs
to me, you may not use it for any reason with out my consent.
In the blackness night of I hear the calling.
I feel its tug at my spirit.
I can feel my soul's urging to answer back.
Rising from my bed I go to the window.
The moon is shining silver,
On the black clouds that billow below it.
My eyes search the sky,
Looking for that far off place.
Where the moon touches the stars.
A tear falls slowly down my face,
As I know there is no answer for this calling.
Returning to bed I can feel the emptiness.
My pillow becomes wet with my tears.
How can a love so pure,
Be so painful?
Lighting a candle I get the book from its place beside my bed.
If for but a moment the pain is gone,
As I turn the pages.