THE BRIDGE OF KHAZAD-DÛM

o near, so near, so far away, The birthing, dawning grey of gloom Speaks unveiled Light and Door to day— There is no bridge in Khazad-dûm. Behind, the weird of drumbeats calls, The shadows dance the chant of doom; Before, the shivered footbridge Falls— The perishing of Khazad-dûm. We stumble to the shattered edge Beside so many unconsoled, Lost on the brink of sorrow's ledge In drowning dark in cavern old. A distant, ancient voice and cry Bewails the tumbling stony span That broke the bond of earth and sky, Untimely parting God and Man. Those hearts that knew are gone to dust, Those eyes that saw are tears become, Slain by the Night that rendered thus The emptiness of Khazad-dûm. No power of this world of Men Can span the void of Primal doom, Nor ‘til the world’s at last a-mend Bestride the gulf of Khazad-dûm.

But Hope—the Shepherd—to atone Has crossed the bridgeless chasm deep, And, passing o'er, was shaped in Stone; The Secret Fire bore bloodied feet. So weeping, wounded, numb, we wait Until the Builder sets that Stone, Which, dropped, will key a new-born gate, Make one the soaring limbs new-flown. Thus, in the mending of the sun, The mending of the earth and moon; When last the weary years are done, There’ll be a Bridge in Khazad-dûm. CB © 2008