Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
Love has given up.
It was the wrong religion.

And London did not melt into the Thames.
You teetered on the edge of a golden world,

and then fell suddenly—
accused of sortilege, ******, and treason.

And at his pleasure—
or was it mercy?—

Was it for the sake of your seven years,
or perhaps for the little daughter?—

in which flowed the royal blood, spoiled by *** and lineage.
Whatever it was, no matter.

He would spare you the pain
of being burnt at the stake.

Instead, to be executed like royalty—
dispatched by a French swordsman.

The prophecy must have been of little comfort
as your ladies helped prepare you to meet

Death, newly betrothed.
A gown of dark grey damask

floated over a blood-red petticoat.
Your mantle was trimmed with ermine.

Queenly, you stood and addressed those who had come to
watch you. And then you knelt and began to pray, and

quickly and mercifully, the blade
carried out its trajectory.
Published along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon and Lulu.
ShirleyB Feb 2016
They failed to filch her fine and noble mien
when Anne Boleyn endured the ****** stand.
Poor Queen! So swift the sword on Tower Green.

Fifteen thirty three could not foresee
this heinous act by Cromwell’s sinful hand,
yet still they failed to filch her noble mien.

‘Twas Edward sought to sully his regime,
obsessed with sons not gracing merry England.
Poor Queen! So swift the sword on Tower Green.

How stealthily does fortune warp the scene.
Betrothed in majesty; so bluntly ******,
And yet, they failed to filch her noble mien

The ‘hangman from Calais‘ equipped the scheme.
In haste he struck the deadly blow. Poor Anne!
Poor Queen! So swift the sword on Tower Green.

In face of death prevailed a humble queen.
‘God praise the King; long may he rule the land’.
They failed to filch her fine and noble mien
Poor Queen! So swift the sword on Tower Green.

— The End —