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My father’s passing brought me to this place A thousand years of fruitless withering Outside the shadow gathers at the gate I cannot shed a tear or seem to bend It asks for all I am; my sons, my wife My life lies like a bridge across this span
This terzanelle deals with Denethor's feelings for the ceremony and obligations of a steward who has had no king to serve for almost a thousand years. I have such a strong symbolic image of the oil / chrism used for such annointings and I wanted to contrast it with the oil spilled on his pyre in his later madness, but oil as an image is changed in our modern mind, and it got too...
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