Tower.

In Cheshire, there is a castle that occupies a place of importance in the history of LARP, Peckforton Castle. A former partner of mine lived within sight of it, and – as we were both keen LARPers – we made a special pilgrimage there. This poem was informed by that experience, and by the ever-present sense of melancholy thinking about that relationship.

Tower.

I saw a castle on a hill,
An edifice of weathered stone.
I clambered to its lofty peak,
Its gates as bleached and pale as bone.

I knew what horrors lay within,
Love, and loss, and longing lay,
Inside its walls of guarded mind,
Its towers of memory all misted grey.

I’ve seen that castle in my dreams,
When my own defences fall to naught.
Its courtyard full of traps and pits,
Of painful memory, deed, and thought.

I left the castle on blistered feet,
Trudging far along a track,
Paved with fear, as cold as sleet,
That it won’t be there when I turn back.