Charles Rises

Charles rises,
inflated with pungent grin.
Moustache waxed.
Bent backs unfurl,
like his wig.
Curls and twists.

"Enough!"
The axe man screams.
Sword in hand.
The block is set
by the New Lord's command.

On this grey day,
this damp January morning.
There, the apex of paranoia lies.
Rolling wide eyes.
Lies hug truth and bury away.
The peasant realises
Cromwell's role in this day
of death,
and surprises.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.