Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

In This Place

by Ruth Strachan

Not your fault, never.
I lived in a daze
of painted happiness.
I never realised
its pretty falseness,
its foolishness;
did not know
that danger pranced around me -
laughter blocked the sound.
Not your fault, never.
My imagination had no room
for dark and dour hounds waiting.
I could not foresee
the heavy hours
that sit now on me
in this place.
Now no party lights,
just dank airlessness, dim.
I could not imagine
the dreadful closing
of that door.
The dogs did not wait in vain.
Not your fault, never.
The fault is mine.
Sing no drear dirge for me -
my doing is my undoing.

Added: 26.04.2010