Joan, this young peasant girl
born of humble stock
believed, she be the answer
as English forces invaded France.
This young peasant girl, who loved
the teachings of the Catholic Church,
believed God had spoken to her
and it be her duty, to save France.
She was mocked by her elders
yet, she believed in her words;
give me an army, and I will drive
these English infidels, from our lands.
Joan led French armies into battle
dressed in white, carrying her banner,
her victories were widespread
her fame spread across France.
Upon her capture, her fate was sewn
dying the death of a martyr,
burned at the stake as a witch,
as she prayed for her accusers.
Soldiers and Knights dressed to kill
ready to die, for King and country,
with sword and axe in hand.
Battled scarred lands and rivers
run red with soldiers blood,
many a knight dies, for his beliefs.
Many a knight, laid to rest
in dead man’s mail,
having served his country well.
Queen Boudicca of the Iceni
Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni
had her lands by marriage
taken from her, by the Romans.
She watched on, helplessly
as her daughter’s virginity,
were taken from them by force.
Anger seeped through her body
her daughters had been defiled
she wanted justice…
She rose up out of revenge
demanding justice and payment
in Roman blood…
Thomas Becket, man of God
once confidante of the King,
transferred his allegiance to God
as church opposed the King.
The King called out in despair
will anyone rid me of this man,
knights hearing of the Kings despair
answered the call, to remove this man.
They killed him
this man of God,
they murdered him
upon his altar; to God.
Henry II and his knights
paid penance, for taking Becket’s life.
Born of London’s gutters
a beggar in France,
lifted out of poverty
Wolsey’s right hand man.
Wolsey lost Kings trust
Cromwell, his replacement
changed church and faith
much to the Kings delight.
Cromwells deeds; his undoing
losing face, with his King
Parliament turned from him
the execution block awaited.
The burden he bore Gave no time for refute He’d been given a job One could not dispute And poor Lady Jane In her ashen condition Seemed far beyond Any hope of volition Not a single wish Could change her fate The course was set Her breath too late And the Lady in wait Sorrowfully […]
Defenseless — Her Writing Haven