A poem by my based on the chapter in lotr by the same name. I think perhaps this is the best place to post it, since many of the community members here have a familiarity with lotr. It is a little rough, perhaps, but i might find time to edit it later. Suggestions for improvement are welcome.

He stalks us, a word
and the sky bruises.
The jeers, beaks and claws
rend the angry clouds.
They bleed,
Dripping such a load of never ending pearls.
Pearls of such cold beauty, the body shivers
And quivers at their icy touch.

He thirsts.
What can satiate his gaping wound,
Moist and red with hate,
His mouth, why is it hungry,
Hungry for sweeter meat,
And the heady mead of power?
To what end leads his greed,
Usurper, traitor, breaker of colors?

Crows follow. Cawing and circling,
Flaming black flecks. Follow them!
He commands, and the little hands,
Ebony hands with dark eyes skitter and fly.

So we hide. We hide from the snow,
The mad mind of the mountain,
The glossy soaring coal that spies.
Waiting, an hour of blood
For every second of thought,
Paces noisily in the chambers of sound,
Doorways to hidden mirrors;
Taking no counsel for itself,
No concern for wizards, wars, or rings.

What say you now, Gandalf?
What say you, smokily clad harbinger of hope?
Did you ever know it would come to this,
Did your foresight predict
The howls! How the wind howls!
Soon the gentle evening-breeze
Will be swaddling our throats with slavering jaws,
Caressing our nostrils with the smell of fetid meat
Rotting between ochre teeth,
Pawing through weeping clothes with ragged claws.

Dare we the darker danger?
Gloom springs from buried yarns,
Dread awakes from its looms
In the lumber-rooms of the mind.
Khazad-dum, a name once fair,
Now besmirched by malice,
The cave, the chasm,
The corroded castle corrugated with absence.
A slate face grey and ashy as death,
Immortal ancient organism corrupt with mortal infection,
Dim and swollen with inner feverish flame.
Beware the Shadow!
Fear that Flame!

We must decide soon.
The grey embers of our fire,
kissed by a giddy rush of air,
Blush black and red,
and dying, ripple with white.
The fading light sputters to charcoal dusk,
a last glimmer of guidance from the west
piercing the throttling gloom.
What say you, Gandalf?