No Thanks Poem by Francie Lynch

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, cages,
Coals and spikes.
Here they forced their truth.
I placed my feet on the first step
Of a coiling, staircase,
Ascending by rooms of crossed swords,
Picts, pikes, mounted heads
And 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 graves of the beseigers,
Who once 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, would be
My answer too.