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Doom of the Noldor

When Feanor the Noldor-king
went forth from Aman with his kin
he halted never, listened not
to all the warnings of woe he got.

So terrible an oath he swore
that when he came unto the shore,
he took with weapons and spilt blood
what in friendship he could not get.

Their friends and kin they slew by then,
too great was the wrath of the loss of the gems
wherein Feanor had saved the light
that had been before the dawnless night.

He did not foresee the grief they would bring,
when he wrought then in Aman’s unfaltered spring.
The Silmarils, the most mighty of jewels,
where not meant to stay where the Valar ruled.

In the darkest of places these gems were bound long
and much war and death they caused among
the Eldar, the Firstborn, but no peace could they get.
Forever they are caught in the jewels’ shining net.

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A poem that I wrote about a year ago. I tried to get the Lay of Leitian-Style, but eventually it didn't quite work out...