And who cares who they’re praising?
You’re free from the weight of providing them proof.
I’ve seen all the ways in
Which you’ve been so brazen -
You must know the truth:
In looking for me you found out you’re amazing.
Yours,
King Richard III
It’s not about glory;
My life was a mixed bag of all sorts of things.
The crown of my story’s
The fact that you saw me -
No more a lost king,
I’d just like to lie like just forebears before me.
If it’s bones that you sell it on,
You must be dogged, so cling to the scent
And the map that you smell it on.
Dig out your wellingtons,
Trust your first trench,
And flesh out a man from a freshly found skeleton.
If I rise from this slime
And take up the line, will you on the other end
Help me unwind?
Crack my curved spine?
Mend and unbend
This intentionally twisted damn’d history of mine?
Dear Philippa,
It’s my trip after life time:
Trapped in a sit-up, bunched in my grave,
I’m thrown by a life-line -
A rope to be climbed -
Sent from somebody brave,
To save me another age hunched in the grime.