A Head Full of Bells

Being the tale of Prince Conall, cursed by St Colum Cille

'Conall, you are cursed,'  

the saint said to him.

'Prince of pride, you won't be king.

A head full of bells on you.

Madness will knell and toll

and the shrill women keen the air

with mocking, unbeloved laughter

when you clang and approach.'

What was there to say to such fate?

Poor Conall, whose skull split within

with brass and iron cacophany.

Colum the angry badmouthed you good.

Mad as a bush full of hunted cats

undone by the hounds of god,

its is said your sanity only returned

each time you defacated.

Reverberating brain beyond bearing,

running over the moor like the clappers,

not escaping the madness inside you.

Underground, I hear your lament -

not a wail nor a song,

but a cacophany of metal tongues

pealing in your burial mound.