The Path

a/n: Hopefully you are familiar with J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings," because Lothlorien, the place my poem takes place, is a mystical forest where some of the elves in Middle-Earth live. My poem isn't trying to describe Lothlorien, just this persons journey through it. If you haven't read "the Lord of the Rings," I suggest you do. Tolkien does a better job at describing the forest than anyone. (He created it after all!) All I will tell you about it is that I wish I lived there because it is so beautiful!


The Path

The bright mid-day sun peers down through mossy boughs of giant mellyrn trees that aid in dancing silhouettes, as I walk along a golden path speckled with autumn leaves.

Peaceful silence is heavy in the air.
Though the lush greenery racing along the golden path radiates with unfathomable sounds.

Around a bend, another color touches the eye.
Stories of myth can now be heard only by the sound of a clear icy creek, flowing with a surpassing delicacy.
Untouched, the shimmering liquid flows freely over smooth stones.

I long to stay but I press forward, fear of night is looming in.

Coming to a clearing, my eyes glitter as I gaze up at the first stars peering down their timeless light.
The sky is now a rainbow of ever deepening blues.

Reaching the end of the clearing I am soon surrounded once more.

Although I cannot see it through the thickness of the trees, the sun has almost set.

Finally I stand atop a hill, looking down I see my destination.
Feeling the last of the sun, now partly hidden by the peak of a distant mountain, warms my cold and tired face and gives me strength to complete my journey along the golden path.