PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Your life, you think, has gone beyond its span.

Your heart, if not your body, is too tired

to wear much longer this too heavy crown

of England.  In your urge to set it down,

you would not mind to meet Richmond in battle;

Richmond who thinks of most people as cattle.

The Queen is dead.  Her absence from your side

is pain unbearable, nor will subside.

(Her unshod stockinged feet will never glide

again across the room's well polished floor.

Wearing just purple stockings---soft, opaque---

she knew how to bring heat to your soul's core,

a surging passion only she could slake,

offered each time she felt herself desired.)

Let Henry think you are afraid to die:

let him believe his propagandists' lie

(more proof the man is just a wishful fool,

his mommy's boy, and not well fit to rule.)

The thought of that last moment and last breath

does not disturb you.  Your fear is not death

but living longer without Anne's sweet love.

Starward

[jlc]