Poveglia Haunted Island Poem, by Brian Otucho, at My poetic side

The tide brings whispers from the shore,

Where ash and root entwine the land—

A bell once tolled, it rings no more,

Yet echoes stir beneath the sand.

The plague ships came with sails of dread,

Their passengers to pyres fed.

Now trees grow tall where cries were shed,

Their roots in silence, bathed in red.

A doctor’s screams still haunt the height

Of crumbling tower, lost to flame.

The mad, unheard, now own the night—

And call their jailer back by name.

So leave it be, this cursed stone,

Where wind and ghost are one and same.

For Poveglia stands, forever alone,

A wound the sea refused to claim.

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