Burning by feanorusrex

I.

I am like the fire
that comes from wet wood,
smoky and dull.

Evil has taken away
Laurelin
And Telperion.

I mourn
as much as Nienna and Yavanna.

But their tears
and song
bring forth two fruits.

And my sorrow gives
Nothing.

Fire is no good for healing
only for destruction.

And I am too weak
and too far away
to destroy Morgoth.

II.

I am alone
smoking and scorched.

Varda finds me
She is made of stars and darkness,
comets and void.

Everything in the heavens.
“Arien,” she says,
extending her hand.

Constellations twinkle on her fingers.
“Come with me.”

I come.
You cannot refuse a thousand galaxies.

My fiery hand does not burn hers.
There is no air for fire to burn
in space.

III.

She leads me
to the dead skeletons of the trees.

Besides them rests
a boat,
beautiful.

Containing the fruit of Laurelin,
glowing
with the light of a tiny candle
compared to my tree.

Yet,
it is the last part of Laurelin left alive.
I will protect it with all the fire in my body.

Varda knows this.
“Take this vessel into the east, and return from the west,”
she tells me.

I know what to do.
How to control this ship.
When to depart. When to return.
I was born for this.

VIII.

I walk towards the vessel
eager, like flames licking at straw.

The voice of Laurelin
calls to me

Arien.

When I touch the fruit,
it is white hot.

Sparks fly from my hands.
And I burn brightly
again.

I am the flickering of a torch in a cave by an explorer,
a candle lit in a sacred ceremony.

I am the fire burning on the hearth of every home,
the billowing fire of a dragon’s breath, destroying.

I am
the sharp flare of a match.

I am ready.
The moorings are cut,
falling away.

The ship lifts off
and
I
fly.

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