Feanor

Behind an arc with glowing curtains
a dove is flying, tired wings,
where you are He is uncertain
you girl with dress so red, that sings.
 
when the ships emit a spark
eyes of ghosts in the ocean's domain
would they consider it dark
to turn the mermaid into foam of pain
 
would be great for their low honor
drapery so torn by claws, alienly fey,
it's like sorrowful news spread by a caller;
yet fashionably stony graves just weigh.
 
the eyelids are closing, so dozy,
they are sweet like honey of gold.
burning out so cozy
like they want to die before they're old.
 
three stars in a crown so new
like a mirror Einaledge
Above them flies a snowy owl
with a trail of yearning pledge.
 
as there isn't anything more fair
than a remorseful young man so sad
with raven feathers in his lively hair
married to his dreams, so glad.
 
he didn't know how he got immersed
in fixated passion to sink a brothered ship
the lights of two trees-temples dispersed
drinking water from the prince's tears; drip
 
to turn into opals,
that shall, from the dark corona
observe him as a cathedral,
pureblood, coolly waiting with aroma,
 
as they're silmarils, untouched by killers,
but not as crystals
~ in his eyes that are souls.
 
they are portal mightily defending pillars.
 
The prince is silent and cries, observing his goals.