Three Sides to the Same Story by Fireworks

"There's three sides to every story -- yours, mine and the cold hard truth."
(Long Way Home, Don Henley)

Gwindor

"At first his own people did not know Gwindor, who went out young and strong, and returned now seeming as one of the aged among mortal Men, because of his torments and his labours; but Finduilas daughter of Orodreth the King knew him and welcomed him, for she had loved him before the Nirnaeth..." (The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien)

Fickle Sonnet

I have looked into evil's fateful eye--
Fate-full, yet I refused to see its sway
For I had basked in sunlit pools and sky
and knew that stronger pow'rs were kept at bay.

Of these the heart rules, blinds one to its ploy
and like a willing slave the soul goes, hauled--
I've seen its chaos, ruin, and glorious joy
and have been, in dire agony, enthralled.

But fortune also reaches, like a dart,
with certain aim the heart to wound in flight.
A man should have no friends, only his heart
that, though, traitorous, gives one one's own bite.

The heart wreaks havoc, curses, wounds, and mars
But, in the end, who has the darkest art?
Should fate be honored as life's truest star?
Or should that honor go to one's own heart?
I'm maimed and scarred, no hope is left for me,
Except to curse my fate and bleed for thee.

Finduilas

"...so greatly did Gwindor love her beauty that he named her Faelivrin, which is the gleam of the sun on the pools of Ivrin." (The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien)

Villanelle for a treacherous heart

How can one live, forever, in twain torn,
in need of naught but what one cannot hold?
Those feelings from a treacherous heart are born.
Unnatural love, black, blind, cursed, and forlorn
abashes pride that once shone forth as gold.
How can one live, forever, in twain torn?
If, when the sun warms down one wants to mourn,
and nights of loveliest moonlight leave one cold?
Those feelings from a treacherous heart are born
and leave the very body spent and worn,
instead of owning trust that makes one bold.
How can one live, forever, in twain torn--
A mis'ry-maker martyr, earning scorn,
as lowly as the earth's most rotten mold?
Those feelings from a treacherous heart are born--
a heart that, rent with pain, has grown a thorn;
a heart that, though once bright, to dark is sold.
How can one live, forever, in twain torn?
Oh, what I'd give to never have been born!

Túrin

"Then the heart of Finduilas was turned from Gwindor and against her will her love was given to Túrin; but Túrin did not perceive what had befallen. And being torn in heart Finduilas became sorrowful; and she grew wan and silent." (The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien)

To Fate: A Haiku, by the pools of Ivrin

Elves' joyless sunlight--
Accursed foul-wind, Morgoth's breath
I shall outrun you!