The Fields Of Pelennor Poem by Frank Witte

Now here I stand,
felt malice in chains,
hands swollen, stained,
broken sword in hand.
The battle may seem won
but hasn't this war just begun?

I lost my kin on the fields of Pelennor,
to her mother a daughter proud and fair.
Tell me what we waged this battle for?
I caress her, my hands through her hair.

Hoping for a King to come, a prayer I whisper,
one more salute at the body of my dead sister,
My cries resound unheard,
my mourning left unearthed.

I dug her a grave with words from my mouth
that saturday as the sun culminated in the South.
My only solace was of no availl
as it came from a hand of betrayal.

I lost my kin on the fields of Pelennor,
to her man a lover and wife loyal and clear.
Tell me what we waged this battle for?
I hold her face for no more can my hands mear.

I cried her a river from the heart to my eyes
this sunday as the sun rose high into the skies.
My only solace comes from a source without end,
Princess of Assur, loved like a sister, always at hand.

I lost my kin on the fields of Pelennor,
to her brother a sister without end.
I do not know what we waged this battle for,
But as the day dawns, pain recedes, a heart mend.

Again here I stand,
malice rinsed by rain,
hands healing in pain,
reforged blade in hand.
The battle indeed was won,
I know now war has gone!