Letter To Arwen - I

Dusk dawn- Light brittles! Who loves the voyage? Me or me soul? Shall we travel on death's chariot? Be our soul damned? Whose charming leaf shall fester my crest! Plunging deep is a river overflown- Trepidation and scourge scorn us! When shall our friend learn our say? Will you adore my colours, If I perch like the canary? No one knows our charred walls. The burning mirage; a clandestine to many! The echoing voices of the Nubians, Heralding as it flows in its shaft The reeling sound couples its cascading warmth, Our moist skin - such odour that the flowers! in the rolling twilight of thrust till dawn. Shall sorrow take thee away from me? Stains of old; a reflection of the day, It reminisces a fall of roses Well channeled like the flowing Thames, Shall the heart melt be! No heir to turn to Not even the lains of kings and queens, The monk lives in the monastery- Joy abounds within.