A bald path crawls along
the mountain spine, it’s feet
awash in the sea. A rustle of
misty winds tease the trees,
wetting the skeletal remains
of a castle, once thick
with stones and bones,
now wrecked by time like a face
paralyzed by age and stroke,
yet reaching for immortality.
A regal assembly of ghosts float
in the semblance of hallowed halls,
to echoes of trilling song, whirling
silk, and the wail of bag pipes,
as the queen’s soft hands of
timeless green landscape
caress the ancient walls of
the once-mighty fortress,
while long-dead voices hark
the pomp of his royal majesty.
