The Lonely Castle

The crest of a spiral staircase

Open to the surrounding glen:

I call it my haven,

An observatory

But I come alone to this place.

Blankets of moss, in perfection,

Patch up where tread has worn

And weeping dew adorns

The whole fertile stone floor

With new nameless, constellations;

Unlike the city's aurora:

Glowing with corporate artifice

And neo-alchemists

Forging a shining life.

Though not one golden foot trod a

Fortress that was bloody rife

With the lives of men and mothers,

Gone from the castle

And their little soldiers and daughters.

These days, nature contrives.

I owe much of the credit for the writing of this poem to Andrew MacAnallen. He wrote the poem on which this one was based. However, I not only took inspiration from his poem, but some parts are roughly the same as the original- so I am going to call this a derivative work, not an original. You can read the original at the bottom of the poetry section of his blog: www.snappyrockets.webs.com