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"Middle-Earth is not an Imaginary World" J. R. R. Tolkien not only kindly shared with the whole humanity the extraordinary world created by his mind. He brought to everyone who believed in his words, a shelter, which walls can’t be trepassed by any evil. A shelter where love and friendship mean more than just false promises based on biased words. It's a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out. He shall live forever inside each page that brings Arda to life.
R.I.P. Jan, 3, 1892 - Sep, 2, 1973Here you'll find anything Tolkien related. Hope you enjoy your stay, little hobbit.
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"You laugh, you cry, you fear, but most of all you believe. You believe in the only thing that saved you, in the only thing that made you feel real. Even if it was for a glance of time. Til your heart stops beating, the story will keep beating with you. And will keep beating for you."The Blog's Owner
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J.R.R. Tolkien reads the “Song of Durin’s Awakening”

The world world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin’s Day.

A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shown forever far and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was bladed and bound was hilt;
The delver mined the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale
And metel wrought like fishes’ mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in horde.

Unwearied then were Durin’s folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge’s fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

“A Journey in the Dark” - The Fellowship of the Ring - LOTR - J.R.R. Tolkien