Not At Home - Prose Poetry From The Hobbit
Sitting in the darkness,
while little is eaten or spoken.
Time moves ever so slowly.
Still sitting and waiting,
scarcely daring to make even the slightest movement.
The whisper of small voices,
echo and rustle,
in the pitch black tunnel.
only to wake once more to darkness.
The eerie, unbroken silence surrounding.
Becoming choked and dazed,
from need of fresh air,
in the stuffy, cramped tunnel.
Any sound from the terrifying beast below,
would almost be welcomed.
Fearing some cunning devilry in the silence.
They grow more tired,
they can not sit and wait forever,
in the chilling darkness and deadly silence.
Finally after many days,
sitting and waiting in silence,
words are spoken.