Sleeping Castle

As I walk along the hillside crest,
the castle comes to view,
A medieval stronghold,
gathering the dew.

I stand alone among the stone,
Once built with steady hands,
Now left in a state of desolation,
Slowly eaten by the land.

If stone could speak,
in solemn words and signs,
Echoing the imprints
of past and distant times.

Once a vibrant, lively place,
the castle is no more,
Weathered by the winds,
and ravaged by war.

The castle, died long ago,
Leaving small trace of it's past.
Endless nights turn to morning lights.
Days and dusk, amassed.

When the castle's gone, legend lives on,
for every man has his story,
of kings, beasts, folklore and outlaws
Bathed in all their glory.

If stone could speak,
through the cracks it would leak,
legends, and tales of men.
Since put to rest, never stirred again.