Sinking

It sits on a shelf in a glass case,
my continuous line of heritage.
That was all that it seemed,
locked away.

On its dragon like body, the timber stained
by water, mud, boots, the ropes all frayed.
Shields at the ready but the battle never came.
It still sits on a shelf anchored, sinking, silently.

Then I realised it runs through my veins
You can’t deny or hide it away
Because my skin is stained with the colours of tartan
as it sinks through the seas of generations.

As I hold this small metal boat
in the palm of my hand
That sails the sea of generations
I will not let it sink, It will escape the glass.

I am connected through blood and bone
My heritage stands in stone
It will not sink,
it will stay.