On the Edge of A Battle

Standing under skies filled
with darkness and gloom.
As I stare with impatiance
at the Mountain of Doom.

On the Edge of a Battle
that cannot be stopped.
Losing all hope
that I held once in heart.

Gazing to fields of orcs
all drumming.
With fear taking hold
we see they are coming.

Modor, unvailed to us
at all strength & force.
At Minas Tirith was stand,
letting death take its course.

Learderless we stand,
in fear of what's next.
For Steward Denethor has parished.
And says we'll be next.

What hope do we hold,
On the Edge of a Battle?
I say! Whatever we can muster
and strength we will gather!
For Minas Tirith!!!!!!!

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