The Wardens of Skellig *
Communing with gannets, puffins and skuas,
Amid ghostly ranks of long-departed monks
And temptress selkies rising from the sea,
The Wardens of Skellig
Have much to talk about and ponder
But only to themselves.
Muttering for want of an ear to listen,
Listening for want of a voice to hear.
Beached on this desolate isle
There is time to consider
The chains that bind you,
Both lofty and mundane,
Chains you wish to cast off
Or to resolve, or to dissolve,
Or, in the end, to endure.
Others come by choice or chance
Having sought it out,
Solitude being in their nature.
If you come seeking fulfillment,
Then you might be filled.
If you come seeking atonement,
That too may be found.
If you come seeking peace,
There is that too in abundance.
But you must be prepared to accept it
Amid the incessant noise.
The qualities that make the prospect alluring
Also make it fearsome.
It is barren, wild, desolate and storm-tossed
Save for colonies of seabirds
Crowding shore and rugged cliffs,
Jostling to protect their brood,
Crying their defiance.
Salt sea air whipped into a frenzy
And hurled against the ragged rocks
The sky above
The sea below
Trapped here for a time
Between them both.
On the outer reaches of Erin’s coast
Lies a mountain tossed by giants
From her western shore,
Set to scuttle wayward ships
Bound for Western Approaches
And blind to Skellig’s warning eye.
The Wardens of Skellig Michael
Attend this desolate treasure,
Now host to tourist trade, the merely curious
And swarms of eager birders.
It calls to a certain character
Of solitary bent and inward gaze.
Perhaps it is perversity or novelty
That lures some to this place.
Or having spent a lifetime
Drowning in worldly chaos
The simple desire for focus
Draws one to this solitary rock.
However they have come,
For unknown centuries
The Wardens of Skellig Michael
Have stood alone
Attending their charge.