The fort is dormant on an idle sea:
a monument to someone else’s war
and left as proof of total victory
against ... no one remembers anymore.
It was so long ago; and lacking graves,
or cairns, or tactile means to mark the lost,
no memory remains of what they gave
to hold this place, or what the final cost
of failure was; for, absent skeletons,
it was not here this war of ghosts was won.

Wind passes, as it does, with no lament
and scarce consideration for what ghosts
may yet remain upon on the battlements.
They fought and lost to time, that mighty host,
undefeated, who holds horizons from us all.
Now moss grows here. Some seabirds make their nest
amongst the broken bricks along the wall,
oblivious to spirits. Dispossessed,
they're pushed aside by every passing breeze,
and hours pass, erasing memories.