A poem about loss

(Disclaimer: Inspired by and indebted to Tolkien's Silmarillion)

He was my king, I was his light,

I was his gift; he was my life;

he coaxed the earth into a sprite

and called a spark of flame his wife.

He caught my raiment in a mesh

of love: I was the one beguiled.

He bound a spirit to the flesh,

filling her with his seed, his child.

We had the stars to watch our bliss;

the Heart of Fire to light our days;

the beaming moon. What was amiss,

that he should crave those other rays?

Was I so dimmed, that he must grasp

that blaze but mirrored in my face,

in matter hard, to kiss and clasp

and take to bed in love's embrace?

How could that poor, imprisoned light

encaged in starless times of yore

replace, what broke away in flight:

the star we lost, and find no more?

He did not tell me. He has gone.

Where once we loved the world turns grey.

Dark is the light that once I won;

Shall I await another day?

A/N: Not new, but now that has a separate Silmarillion section I decided to upload it after all.