Reaching Down by Suzanne Hudson

 

St Dynwen's Church, LLanddwyn Island, Anglesey, Wales.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


Ruined buildings excite me.
I can feel the presence
of those who have gone before.
I touch the stone
and I feel an energy that
logic alone couldn't begin
to explain.

I peer through
a narrow arched window
and wonder who else has
seen that view.
I climb crumbling stairs that
lead to nowhere,
adding my footsteps
to the thousands of others
who have worn smooth hollows
into the stone.

I touch a pillar and feel
like my hand is reaching
down through the
centuries, connecting with
those who were once here.
I talk to them, like a madwoman,
saying 'I know you're there' and
I believe they can hear me.

It's time to go.
I have to tear myself away.
I feel that if I could stay
a little longer, they would
talk to me and tell me
all their secrets.

I'm stirred up for days afterwards,
like I've been a vessel
through which they've
tried to communicate.
Will I ever be brave enough
to trust my instinct
and tell their stories?