The drawbridge spanned
An arid moat where peasants
And soldiers perished.
The lane lead through the portcullises,
And I started my tour in the dungeon.
Here the iron age apexed
In shackles, chains, cages,
Burning coals and spikes.
Here they forced their truth.
I placed my feet on the first step
Of a coiling staircase
Ascending past rooms of crossed swords,
Picts, pikes, mounted heads,
Coats of arms.
In the centre of the dining hall,
Resplendent with gold plates
And silver candle sticks,
Was the refectory table.
I continued the tour past
Arrow slits overlooking
The  beseigers,
Who waited for victory
Or salvation.
The arduous spiral
Lead to a parapet, a high place:
Here, I imagined I saw the
Kingdoms of the World.
*No Thanks,