>>Poems
"Portrait of a Queen"Andrea Peterson
Composed and calm.
Laughing.
Ready to weep.
The proud queen stares out the window wondering what she did. Had her enemies at court done this to her, or Hal, or the pressure?
Footsteps.
Who now? Look fine, look innocent, you did nothing wrong.
A queen must never cry. She is the true picture of the regal dream. Dreams don�t cry.
This one does.
Tears fast down her cheeks, staining her dark complexion. It's painful but why whipe wipe them away now?.
The tower�s Steward enters. He backs away as he sees the tears. I gentlemen should not disrupt a lady in tears. He has no choice.
He motions to her ladies. It�s time.
Breathing deeply she puts her hair in a golden net and smoothes her petticoats in a nervous movement.
How could Hal?
After all he went through to marry her!
What about poor Elizabeth?
Too late to worry now.
Stair steps, she hears her own footsteps echo on the cold stone. So loud.
There is light ahead.
The tower green.
Grass blades are crushed by her feet. Her footsteps are short and fast. They are nervous footsteps.
She stops.
She sees the swordsman.
She panics. Inside she is crying. But she will die with her pride. No more crying for the queen.
Stepping up to the block she wonders why.
Why her?
What did she do?
Why take everything away?
She makes her final plead of her innocence. It falls of deaf ears.
She lays her head down. The swordsman calls for the sword.
Her head turns towards him.
Alas he already had the saber.
One quick stroke. It only took one stroke. To behead a queen, an unrightfully accused �harlot� and �traitor�. The �worst lady in Christendom� was gone.
So died the queen, Anne Boleyn.
Cry for her. Not as the damned but as the unjustly damned.