She is a wraith
and she cries.
She left long ago her old life behind,
a torn, fragile body; the love of her kind
who mourned for her
to sit in dark halls, refusing to hear
the pleas of the child she had left in tears.
She was not aware.
Look there, silent spirit, and see there
Withered lilies lie beneath your fingers
A fading grief, a promise not kept,
and broken was the bond that had lingered
the day when I killed you again.
Did you come now to remind me?
* * * * *
She is a wraith,
and she hides.
Searching and running; then she disappears
Stay quiet, listen: her breath I can hear
so soft in the dark.
I can feel her grieving, and savour her tears
Her gaze is accusing, but she is never here
and she never was.
She is a wraith
and she is dead
Still, deep in the night she is waiting for me
and deep in the shadows she dwells
I turn away, cravenly fearing to see
the dead spirit , cloaked in pain
who calls me intruder with silent disdain.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.