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THE EXECUTIONER --Death Of Marie Antoinette
The raving of the night is everywhere,
you lie in candle-light; you brush your hair,
while Paris lulls to sleep, the storm goes on
more promises to keep, before the dawn.

More lightning gloats your room, you shake your head
and thunderous, the gloom would raise the dead;
in shadows from the sound, where devils wait,
you feel them all around, but it is late;

and so you put aside those things you think fear,
the feeling someone's died, and very near.
he sees you in the glow and flashing light,
from where you do not know he waits tonight,

behind the closet door, it creaks ajar,
he waits to see some more of who you are;
so beautiful in dreams, he's always known
your look is what it seems, and his alone.

He's put it in his head, his mortal sin,
your love is just as dead as he has been
all of his life and time, eternally,
and love can't be a crime, if meant to be.

Outcast from all of life, he's died before,
and waits there on this night, to die some more,
not caring it's your fate; the guillotine;
his love will come too late, to save his queen.

You'll die tonight again, it's all been planned,
from time, you don't know when, nor understand,
he's every man you've seen, but never known,
and everything between, love and alone;

from lonliness, and hate of every man,
you've ever met too late, since love began,
from loving one who lied, and cut you deep,
not caring how you cried yourself to sleep;

the cyclone rages on, the storm is great,
your beautiful has gone to be your fate,
and you, the only queen he'll recognize,
are all his love has seen with his own eyes;

if only he would kill, and get it on,
perhaps you'd sleep until your sleep is gone,
but shadows hide your death there on the wall
until your final breath, to sleep you fall,

and that is when you feel what no-one knows,
there in your mind, but real, the wind that blows
to end the shadowed night, before you sleep,
and snuffs the candle light, you try to keep.

Your guilliotine awaits, there is no cake,
to share with anyone, your big mistake,
and so his glove is steady on the bar,
delivering his shiny blade to who you are.

© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
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