Aralcor

Up, upon a place,
Where the rolling hills fall past my feet-
Off, in the distance,
Where the horizon glows blue in the fading twilight-
There, up there,
Is where my heart longs to be.
Further beyond the valleys of steel and ice,
With their villages of men pounding sword and stone
As their fires smoke heavily into the night.
Past the chaos,
Where a cool wind blows away the dusty air of the world
And brushes the stars clean.
That place beyond,
Where those with brave hearts walk among the lions,
And sing the wild, free songs of the starlight,
And dance among the sapphire mountains.
Oh, Aralcor,
Where the wanderers at last find their home,
And are happy to roam no longer.
That is where I wish to be.

Messenger

It was in the tide of spring

When the lily-whites were unfurling their purple-striped buds,

And the little onion-flowers were peeping up their stalky heads,

That Chief Hiagon made his choice.

Perhaps it was the time of year that turned his mind to hope-

For in springtime,

The deeds of winter,

The betrayal of brothers,

The mutinies whispered over smoking fires,

And the breaking of promises made

Under the starry skies of summer,

May melt away with the thawing snow.

For, when the earth sings of new beginnings,

The hearts of men may warm.

They may soften with the melting ices.

Though often stifled in the dead of winter,

Hope is not easily silenced in spring.

So Hiagon sent me forth-

A messenger to speed among the waving grasses,

Following the creeks,

Bearing the news of forgiveness.

I was sent to run-

Among the pine-forests,

Across the sands,

Along the streams.

Bearing a message of this newborn hope,

A slender green shoot among the springtime flowers.