The Barrows

[written_leaves]

Two for the darkness beneath the barrow mounds

This passage ranks right up there in Freaky Ghost Stories of my life - it's a relatively brief interlude in the narrative, but so dark.

Barrow Mist

The barrow downs lie in the mist,
The wreathing wisps grasp the stones,
Call me now a pessimist
But this cold reminds of bones.

Long ago they fell beneath,
Dark the shades that crept within,
Heavy gold they shall bequeath,
Entrapping weight to stiffen.

Why did we stop, unthinking?
Now my plaintive cry resounds,
Answered only in clinking,
Far beneath the barrow downs.
-

Barrow

Deep in the barrow,
Beneath sickly, pale light;
Death's luminescence and decay.
A sword at their throats,
With gold weighed down;
Deep in the darkness will they stay.

Deep in the barrow,
A spark of defiance,
One whisper ventures from a voice gone dry.
Strength of desperation,
Hewing at the evil -
Deep in the barrow yet they lie.

Ho! Tom Bombadil,
Tom Bombadillo!

Deep in the barrow,
A hand creeping closer,
Memories with life yet remembered not.

By water, wood and hill,
by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon...

Clotted in the darkness,
Cold with pale mocking,
Redemptive gold moulders unsought.

Harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil...

Shaking hands,
A lifetime of heartbeats
The pale hewn hand that bears unlife,
Drawing ever nearer
Through broken bones and gems in
Slow moving death throes that never die.

Deep in the barrow,
It cannot hide forever;
Never can it catch the ageless singing master,
Driven from the stone lair
Strength of songs behind it,
Barrow-wight may flee but Tom, his feet are faster!
-