Tintagel Bridge
As I walk along the wooden boards
Flanked by firm railings,
I wonder how they used to cross
From mainland to castle,
Back when the bridge was
Stone and roughly-hewn wood.
The waves crash upon the rocks below,
Tide eddying into Merlin’s Cave.
Did they risk wind and raging storm
To get across with a message for the king?
Did they shelter on the main land,
Waiting for calmness to invite them in?
Tintagel… the remains tell only a tiny,
Practical part of the story.
What of the myth, the rumours, the history?
What of the dealings in the western outpost
For trade and travellers from afar?
We can never know the legend’s truth.
The mystery draws
Crowds to this centre
With magical depths and history.
I cross the sturdy bridge,
Wanting more than quotidien reality
To live on in the rocks beneath my feet.
The romance of this mythical place
Stirs my heart to feel
A yearning, a longing,
To become more than just
A person, a visitor, a tourist-
To be one with the myth.
To dissolve my life of
Petty daily needs and wants,
To emerge, a warrior, a maiden,
A minstrel, a foreign trader,
Or a simple visitor to the
Court of King Arthur.
Copyright © Emily Joshua | Year Posted 2020
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