Up the incline
to the walls high
pilgrims to see
the dead heart
tower and keep
stable and yard
mold and moss only
holding up walls of
legend and age
tight, twisting stairway
go up, come down
crumbling off in your hand
splintering door of weather-dark wood
still flush in the jamb
three floorless levels high
Guidebook have I
to a maze of rock
built with special care
to be fought for
but the reasons are gone
only the shell remains
and it is cold
the dead heart
the turbulent sky its roof
the treacherous earth its floor
stand close
the velocity of the plain winds
rushing the paneless windows
hard to breathe
surrounded by the odor of ages
and the rain
sculpting the chalky stone
blending, turning
smoothing, shifting
scraping, sifting
and slowly dismantling
the dead heart
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This poem was inspired by a visit to Ludlow Castle in England when I was 16. Ludlow was the traditional home castle of the Yorkists and is historically important for that reason
YOU ARE READING
The Land of Ice and Vine: Poems
PoetryA mixed collection of my story poetry written between the ages of 13 and 43. With notes.
