somewhere past rivendell

somewhere past rivendell

i’m somewhere past Rivendell
boots cracked, heart louder than the wind.
the road ain’t magic anymore…
just mud, and stone,
and the ring of my own thoughts
hanging heavy against my chest.

there’s no people of Gondor cheering,
no mustering of the Rohirrim,
nor King Theoden's "Forth Eorlingas"
just the deafening silence of me choosing
to take another step
when no one would blame me for turning back.

i miss the Shire in me…
the part that believed home was a place,
not something you had to build
with shaking hands and unsteady faith.

my Fellowship is small, flawed,
but by Ilúvatar, we walk anyway.
some days I carry them,
some days they carry me.
some days we just bleed beside each other
and call it progress.

there are nights I feel the darkness of Sauron
pacing just beyond the firelight,
whispering: you’re not enough,
you never were.

but the morning comes,
and I’m still here
tired, stubborn,
waiting for second breakfast.

no return of the king yet.
no eruption of Mount Doom.
just a worn-out traveler
carrying the weight of the Ring,

and a few loaves of lembas bread
walking on
long after it would’ve been easier
to lay it down.

perhaps,

“The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can.”