Lady Who Was Hung

Lady Who Was Hung

She died in silent hours,

her warmth began to fade.

No soul was there to witness,

except a frightened maid.

I changed her gown for mine,

and stood where she had stood.

I ran and cried for help,

as only impostors could.

They gathered in the doorway,

and blessed my borrowed name.

They bowed as though they knew me,

and played a noble game.

No servant lived beside me,

no voice to speak the past.

So I became the lady,

and prayed my lies would last.

I dined by glowing candle,

and signed her silver crest.

I fumbled with my language,

and prayed it sounded dressed.

Each word betrayed my nature,

each step revealed my clay.

But still the town believed me,

while doubt began to sway.

The nights became my torment,

I feared a knowing call.

A bishop watched my manner,

a doctor scanned the hall.

Their eyes would linger longer,

their questions dug too deep.

The lie began to tremble,

and tore apart my sleep.

At last the truth was taken,

and laid before the floor.

Her ring was found upon me,

no secrets held me more.

They read my sin as poison,

and stripped the life I sought.

The sentence fell upon me,

for being what I was not.

They raised the grimwood gallows,

I felt the final chill.

The crowd had come for closure,

for justice and for thrill.

The rope became my ending,

as cold as winter’s breath.

A stolen life forgotten,

and paid for in my death.

So let my ghost of the grand house

moan and wail as I may.

I promised before they hung me.

From the house I would never stray.