Extra Red Wine

The White Queen: A Poetry Collection

The Storyteller

Wine and Cyanide

Poured into a glass

The cook had made a plan


She’d kill the queen

And steal the jewels

For the maiden needed fame


Her heart depended on this dear plan

For it would shatter if it failed

As she would lose the maiden

Along with any chance at her hand


So she poured the glass

Delivered it too

Bloodying her hands


Not a wink of sleep that night

As she waited for screams

Echoing from the queen’s chamber


But not one came

Not that day

But one had risen soon


The queen herself

Shouted and roared

As a martyr lay upon her floor


“How did he get here

He spoiled my plan”


“The queen will rule another day

As my sweet maiden gets away”


This martyr, no, this man

Will not be forgotten

Not by one at least


The rest of the world 

Will not know the pain

Ingrained within the cook that day

The Queen’s life remaining

He will be unappreciated still

Most of the world will be unchanged


But a new ice grew

Within the soul

Of that bloody-handed cook