POEM TITLE BLACKNESS CASTLE
POEM This bruiser of a fortress, this attack dog of a castle,
Carved from solid rock, baring its teeth out to sea,
Blackness was the embodiment of Scotland's motto
"Wha daur meddle wi' me?".
For centuries it faithfully protected Linlithgow's port
Until Court and Kings moved on to greatness
And Blackness lost its Royal status.
No longer needed, kicked in a corner,
Left to guard the inconvenient and forgotten,
Those sent to rot in its cold, sea-washed dungeon.
And so the Castle stayed, fallen from former glory,
Toothless and emasculated, until now, dragged out
To play bit parts in re-imagined versions of Scotland's story.
And so they come to poke and prod, looking for what?
Fact or fiction? Fantasy or the darker reality?
They stroke its cold, mould-blackened stones
And peer into its sightless eyes. A shiver chills the bones.
This is no romantic place, this place that time forgot.
Hurry away to find warmth and comfort at the Lobster Pot.
Tick off another film location, another tourist destination,
Leaving behind the echos of the prisoners' cries
Intermingled with the seabirds' wailing calls
And a skeleton hand still manacled to the dungeon walls.
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