Dundurn Castle

I hesitate for a moment outside the rod iron gates; sensing behind those castle doors, a long past life awaits, within those many mortared walls, rising high above the lake, as my breath begins to quicken and my knees began to shake. Step into the parlour, the old curator now implores; where upon I see the winding staircase, I at once abhor. Below the ground on cobbled stones, stepping up to marbled floors, a scullery maid with calloused feet, summoned by her Lord. As I climb those winding stairs again, my back begins to ache, as visions of cups and saucers, tumble down the stairs and break. The Mistress of the castle, coiled, and hissing like a snake, strikes me down to lie among the shattered glass, and birthday cake. Upon a marble checkerboard, in squares of black and white, I die; barely fourteen years of age, a lonely child, frail and shy; buried in a shallow grave, no marker telling where I lie, just the roses in the garden, underneath a blue, blue sky. Written: June 25, 2014 For Past Life Contest Author's note: Dundurn Castles is a real castle in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. On a visit there, I had an overwhelming feeling of familiarity, which inspired this poem about a past life.