We took the first bus to the island,
Crossed the long causeway, over the sand
The marshes dotted with seagrass,
Pockmarked and bleak like a lunar land.
The wave-lapped road was deserted,
Watched over by cabins on long pinched stilts
Predatory sentries of man,
As welcoming as a witch’s digs.
We climbed the steep track to the castle
And shielded our eyes til the wind had gone
Stacked rocks in small piles like funeral pyres,
By the lime kilns of Lindisfarne.
Those fires have long since burned out
Still I look for a spark to start
The fossilised remnant of life
That dwells inside of my worn out heart.
But oh, when the seals
With the gentle moan of a human child
Burst out of the water
A crescendo of seagulls dawns, waves pound the shore
And I can hear again.
Angsty Poems 