swirling about me.
Colours of darkness and death.
I cannot remember the sweet green of the Shire...
Nor the laughing call of the streams...
Why must even the smallest memories of beauty and life
be slain by this wretched
Thing?
I know that the hills were green in my homeland...
I know that the cooling water was blue; clear and
silver-blue.
My own home was built in a green hill.
I walked on the cool, welcoming grass; felt its
strands beneath my feet..
I trailed my hand in the clear water, felt its
coolness ripple through my fingers...
a silver ribbon slipping through the green.
It lived and gave life, the greenness.
I loved it.
But I cannot see it, blessed green; I only know that
it was.
Once, a long time ago, in a memory, it was...
A memory from which the life has been sapped.
All I know now is black, and searing crimson.
Black all around, and red, searing fire.
A terrible eye, ringed in flames
with a death-dealing blackness in the center.
It will kill me in the end.
And this heavy circle of gold
tearing away my memories of that which I loved
relentlessly drawing me down
wrenching the life from my soul.
Is there no escape?
There is no peace in this void,
no treasured image of beauty or peace.
Only blackness, the hue of death
the hue of my loss.
And red, the hue of blood
the hue of the pain I feel.
Soon there will be nothing left.
-Frodo Baggins
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