Poem of the Week: ‘Witching Hour’ by Laura Purcell

2nd Place
‘Scotland’s Bairn’ by Sophie Taylor

A few remaining autumn leaves rustled

Along the path by the Loch

Before hurtling up into a spiral

With the high winds

They spun in a wild unison

Before scattering

The morning you were born

You lay frail and small

Weakened by your mother’s life

The strife was palpable with your father

A man whose pain never left – a vehemence

Festering, ready to implode

No-one able to resolve

The morning you were born

Taken home with the winter darkness

You would not stay long.

This tumultuous path runs through your bloodlines

Stretching far with the Highlands.

A nefarious energy lurked, ready to carry you off

To a death within the coldness of an institute.

Walls like this were built to smother innocence.

For years you would roam

Deserted to the birds, crying for release

Yet cries fall like mutterings in a place like this.

People came, then left, with burning skin

And stifled breath, ashamed by their weakness.

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