At that time the treasures were created

that became the greatest Elven works;

for at the peak of his skilfullness, fated,

Fëanor desired something new and of worth.

Maybe he was touched by the foreshadowing,

by an omen for the coming days of destiny;

he pondered on the possible ways of preserving

the imperishable light of the two trees successfully.

In great secrecy and fruitful silence

he undertook a great mission that contained

all of his knowledge and agility in science,

and all that resulted in the Silmarils, untainted.

They appeared to be in resemblance

three precious stones and we will never know

what they bear inside, a transcendence,

until the End of the Days that will show

how the Sun will extinguish at once,

and the Moon will crumble down,

followed by the tremulous occurrence

of Fëanor's return, awaited and renowned.

For Fëanor perished long before the Sun

would start shining from the firmament;

now he abides in the Waiting Halls, a missed one

by his beloved kin; expecting judgement.

The stones looked like diamond crystals,

yet infinitely firmer, so no force within Arda

could break them and dim their inward spirals,

bearing codes protected by the gems' surface.

Yet for the Silmarils, the crystals that bore them,

meant for their own essence not more than the

perishable bodies of the Children that wore their

inner ardour filling their particles with eternality.

Fëanor brought to life the inner flame

of the Silmarils, mixing rays of the Trees of Valinor.

And that light is still alive even today,

even if the Trees withered in times now forlorn.

For that is the reason for the sharp shining

of the Silmarils even when deeply hidden in a treasury box,

with their own light, just as Varda's stars; beings,

alive and merry, rejocing, accumulating and emitting Lux.

Every single soul that abided in the beloved Aman

observed mesmerisedly the work of Fëanor's hands;

Varda blessed the Silmarils to be invincible against

every unclean touch that meant to desecrate and damn.

Mandos foretold that the fate of everything in Arda,

the earth solid, the seas, all creatures, the skies,

were tied to the Silmarils that actually bore the

very core of Eru's Flame; the Source but capsulized.

Great zeal did Fëanor feel for these creations,

alas, every overdone passion turns to corruption;

blessings untamed and uncontrolled are damnations;

possessive inclinations turn greed to destruction.