Through Hell, Keep Going

If you should walk where every light has died,
And ash replaces breath upon the tongue,
Where hope lies broken, trampled, and denied,
And even prayers feel hollow when they’re sung—

Still move, though all the world conspires to chain
Your trembling heart to shadows cold and deep;
Stride on through fire, through loss, through nameless pain,
For those who halt are those the dark will keep.

Beyond the smoke, some dawn awaits the brave,
A sun unscarred by sorrow’s choking air;
No soul who crawls through hell remains a slave,
For flames reveal what truth the heart can bear.

So keep your course—though torment burns and stings,
Each step through hell may forge an angel’s wings.

Théoden, Son of Thengel

He rose from shadows steeped in whispered lies,
A broken king in halls grown cold with dread.
His crown was dulled beneath deceiving eyes,
His strength slept long, where Gríma’s poison spread.

But horns did sound, and sunlight stroked his brow,
As courage stirred beneath his weary breast.
He grasped his blade and swore a brighter vow—
To ride where glory meets the grave and crest.

At Helm’s dark gate, his spirit lit the flame,
A fire reborn in war’s relentless breath.
He fell with honor, shouting love, not name—
A golden leaf cut softly down by death.

Yet still he rides in tales the mead halls sing—
The aged heart that died a fearless king.