Sonnet #189

The castle is no place to be a man,

All that dust and draftiness, narrow stairs

And those tiny slits for windows. Escape plans

And siege equipment, and all those rare

Accumulated things growing mold

or hidden in moldy boxes, and the cracks

in the walls where mice, chewing on old

manuscripts. And there’s all those people hack

coughs in the dust and race around the stairs

No, the castle is no place to be a man

The crown is an unnatural invention made for stares

That weighs the mind down. Will you stand?

I’ve never met a man in a castle – only jesters

Who seem unaware of the jeers of their betters.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s