Stroma

The sea rides heavy across the firth,
    breaking in silence now the houses are faceless again.

Faceless and roofless for the most part
    and, door to gable, emptied of home and heart.

Heart-weary, they have turned to stone,
    alone on slopes that find the sea a hollow place.

Hollow and grey as the sky-stormed land left unfarmed,
    shy of beast and furrow, abandoned.

Abandoned for want of promise, for a life
    that no-one then thought worthy of work or time.

Time too elusive, toil too arduous,
    to be replaced by years wasted in sweatless labours.

Labours of love lost now to tears and ruin
    watching the sea ride heavy across the firth.

© BH, 2024

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A photo on Facebook – by a photographer based in the north – of Stroma with the Pentland Firth seas raging around it. On the land the houses persist despite being empty.

 
I had my own images, taken nearly a decade ago, of the strangely haunting township of ruins.

I had to write this…