I've sometimes wanted to see a poetic or descriptive story that talks about Belegost, one of the most prominent Dwarf realms in the Silmarillion. I've put it in the Lord of the Rings archive because it's more popular than the Silmarillion archive. I'm a believer in the notion that both real and imaginary realms can exist new and improved in Heaven, which is why this poem gets a little spiritual at the end. If you don't like such topics, do yourself a favor, and don't read this. If you do, read on!

Disclaimer: I do not own Middle-earth, the Tolkien Estate does.

Belegost

In Gabilgathol, in Belegost,
Are secrets of Dwarves that now are lost,
For none now live who still recall
It's glory, beauty, and its fall.

Yet great it was in its Golden Age,
With Dwarves of passion, loyalty and rage,
But greater yet are its vast armories
And splendid weapons and treasuries.

In Belegost, in Gabilgathol,
The Khazâd worked hard and paid their toll
To trade with the Elves and mortal Men,
So they could get their food and goods then.

They forged chain mail before all others',
And made bright weapons for their brothers.
They carved their fortress-city from stone
Where they would dwell with their own race alone.

In Gabilgathol, in Belegost,
No one who entered could get lost,
For within this beautiful stone cove
Were joy and laughter, wonder and love.

All who saw this marvelous place
Would marvel at its colorful traces,
Of gold and silver, gem and jewel,
A kingdom meant for a Dwarf to rule.

The Khazâd here would never lose their will
In the face of evil trying to kill,
For the fire of their stout hearts and souls
Would overcome any Orcs and Trolls.

Second only to Khazad-dûm
Were the halls where Dwarves who always loomed
Armor and cloaks and wicked helms,
That protected them in evil realms.

They won great fame in the War of Jewels
Where Elves had support from their tools,
And Azaghâl, their fiery lord,
Wounded dragons with his sharp sword.

Now Belegost is lost to us,
And none now know what it truly was,
For Dwarves are very secretive
And of Elves they are not appreciative.
But weep not for Belegost, my friend,
For Mahal will restore it in the end.
With all the ancient Dwarf realms of old,
Its forge's fire will not grow cold,
And the Dwarves will come into Eru's light
And rebuild the realms in the ways of right.