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Bloodline by Stewart Stafford
Stuart Richards, 5,001st in line to the British throne,
A distant cousin of the king but hitherto unknown,
He dreamt of the crown and his fair queen's hand,
But there was no baiting the hook unless he had a plan.
He chose to eliminate the competition, stood before him,
Through a dark celebration, they'd never know what hit them,
He sent out invitations to the 5, 000 heirs,
Promising vast feasting, with music and fanfare
He built a fake house front with a door and a sign,
That said: "Welcome to the party. Now, kindly form a line."
Behind the door, there awaited a cliff face and a fall,
A master of deception, his warm smile greeted them all.
He stood at the front door with a charming bow,
And, welcoming each guest, he said: "In you go now!"
He watched them disappear as they stepped through the door,
Counting steps to ascension, lemmings queued up for more.
Backslapping himself, inner cackling at his scheme,
Imagining himself as king - glory rained down, it seemed,
But his Machiavellian plotting had a monstrous flaw,
One thing he'd forgotten that greedy eyes never saw.
The king was still alive, and he was not amused,
He got wind of this plot and responded unconfused,
He sent his guards to arrest him for sedition in a fury,
They swept him off his feet, planting him before a jury.
Put on trial for treason - the verdict was most guilty,
Execution set, he had the neck to beg for mercy,
But the king was not budging and barked: "Off with his head!"
An Axeman's reverse coronation, he joined the fallen dead.
Halting 2,986th in line to the British throne,
A distant cousin of the king, headless spirit flown,
In jealous craving, dispossessed as ruler of the land,
Crowned pride came before a fallen plan.
© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.
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