Eä's Redemption by AaronAzrael  

Of the Silmarils and the unrest of the Noldor

Thus, the Valar didn't perceive the danger -
the poison that corroded Valinor's peace.
The Noldor, grumbling, turned to strangers,
forgetting the source of their gifts...

They devoted their hearts to pride,
although their knowledge and possessions
came to light from their Valarin guides,
talents the Noldor twisted with passion.

The new flame of yearning for freedom
and for vast reigns ignited in Fëanor's chest.
Melkor laughed at him and his delusion,
for he despised Fëanor the most, with unrest.

For Melkor craved the Silmarils avidly,
waiting for a chance to be able to seize them;
Fëanor kept them meticulously; an agony
for the Elohim - consumed and condemned.

Regardless of all that Melkor's ever done,
he didn't really need mere external configurations;
for he was chosen to be among the ones
who could bring life forward from zero to new creations.

But has he ever really shut to the current of malignity,
to feel the silence within that utters the truth?
To perceive the transcendental imperishability,
that he already had it all, more than he would?

For he craved the Triune Flame of the Center,
that was his first glimpse, forever captivating him,
he couldn't understand that he could only enter
through the heart and not through any outer things.

Melkor was aiming at representatives of lesser kingdoms,
a way to express that he wanted to be the Source himself,
for possessing the Silmarils would mean a way of dominance
over Eru's Flame, yet it was just a jewel toy of an Elve,

for Eru that stone meant nothing but a fragment
of Life's manifesting force, essence in frames,
for differences disintegrate in a blink of a moment,
for all are sparks in atoms, for Life all's the same.

For the only thing that could make Melkor happy
would be if he realised what total death meant;
then feel gratitude for God's immortality,
erupting with virtue's inexhaustible intent.

For the truth is simple and it is to feel thankfully,
beyond the narrowing scenarios of a magical game,
when spells dissolve, it is time for Aum's alchemy,
a river of everything where nothing stays the same.

So... Fëanor suffered from the same condition;
the greed of not sharing, the desire to possess;
he only took out the stones during festive traditions,
to put them on his forehead and feel how they bless.

On all other occasions, he hid them in his treasury,
in Tirion, guarded, in hidden depths without access,
his love for the Silmarils mixed with avidity, weary;
only his father and sons saw them; hidden from the rest.

Fëanor fell for the illusion of matter and time,
where the outlines convince they are realer
than the essence that formed them; "They're mine!"
While all inside is Unity; and Fëanor a stealer.

For the Light did not belong to him after all,
the Flame, the Source, the Three-Fold Life;
and all who claim power over the One, shall
be humbled in lessons; separated, to contrite!