Of late, I am enamored, of a skill I just did find,
it seems I have a talent, building castles in my mind.
Of course, there is a drawbridge, portcullis and a moat,
and mail clad guards in armour, of whom legends could be wrote.
The mossy stones that form the walls, are weathered but quite stout,
protecting all who dwell within, while keeping evil out.
My castle does not dominate some lonely, craggy moor,
but rather sits within a glade, beside a lake's still shore.
The fragrance of the flowers, whose fields abut the woods,
wafts through open windows, while the merchants ply their goods.
A portrait of a simpler time, mugs of mead and ruddy smiles,
and lusty barmaids singing as they flirt and try their wiles.
The halls are hung with tapestries, wove from my threads of life,
the larger ones show happiness, the smaller ones, the strife.
The hearths are large as horses, burning logs the size of men,
with braziers all along the walls, to light the mighty den.
And yes, there is a dungeon, for I knew you'd want to know,
what secrets might be hiding, 'yond the spiral stairs below.
The air is dry and musty, with some cobwebs here and there,
my eyes, adjusting to the light, my mind becomes aware.
Machines of my own making, filled with sadness, guilt, and pain,
I'd placed myself within them, salvation hoped to gain.
But now, I do not think so much, about those old devices,
I lock the gate behind me, as a cloudless sky entices.
I feel the heat of sunbeams, wisp of hair upon my cheek,
and gaze from top my parapet, as wisdom I do seek.
We all must have our castles, but don't use them just to hide,
I wish to find, beyond my gates, where knowledge does abide.
By James Geehring