longshanks stood here
or so I’m told
dropping buttons on a plate
currying divine favour
feeding on holy bread
sacramentally blessed

now I stand here
priest of this fold
the hill of the worm plainly in my sight
past visions looming large
resounding inside my head
of sword,
of steel,
of blood,
of death.

this church stands here
or so I’m told
linking his past
with my present
all virtue and vice
all virtue and vice

the walls drip with prayer
or so I’m told
prayers for what?
a field of dead scots?
wallace in a grave?
praises to an english god?

weathered and worn
or so i’m told
by thousand year fight with elemental forces
shearing stone from stone
layer by layer
strip by strip
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
back to the bone

like tears the stone dust falls
tears for the guilt of silence
tears for the plaintive wind of a thousand cries unheard and unanswered
tears from the stones that did not sing
that shouted no protest in the face of priests and kings
drunk on power
on a wrathful god
on a divine right to rule

longshanks stood here
or so I’m told
girding his loins
for the march ahead
praying for deliverance
praying for blood
sacramentally blessed

such deathly piety –
I feel it on the wind even now
infused within these walls that I touch – perhaps
a cold waiting to be caught
turning sensible souls into preachers of hate

graves mark the victims
their silence speaks
humans all
spread-eagled
cross-like
dead
hung on the nails of battlefields blessed with prayer

longshanks stood here
or so I’m told
I can stand no more