A man stepped a step forward

With his head held high

And a similar sister

Always there by his side

A crowd stretched out beneath them

In the palms of their hands

Held protests of the king

Who ruled their sacred land

Look back to the man

Dressed just like the others

But stronger, he stood

And with a greater purpose

Shift your gaze, if you must

To the cowering sister

For similar, they look

But their minds and hearts differ

Gears whirled in her mind

As she fiddled with her dress

The crowd hissed, she only wished

That she had never seen this mess

Silence fell upon the crowd

With a flick of his wrist

As a man stepped to the guillotine

The sister wished, and she wished

For the man who knelt before them

Was not who he had claimed

“King” was not his title

And no one knew his name

This, the sister knew

As she stood there and watched.

“I have to do something!”

This remained her only thought

“Wait!”

She shouted, blood rushing through her veins

“This man is not your king,

He is not who he claims!”

A silence fell upon the crowd

Whispers started to emerge

The man looked so defeated

Hatred started to resurge

Once again, the brother silenced them

With a movement of his hand.

He stared daggers into her soul,

“Then just who is this man?”

She took a deep breath

And steadied her nerves.

“Just look at his face,

What do you observe?”

“This,” she continued,

As she pointed with her hand.

“This is the king’s brother

And his right-hand man.”

Silence stood for a second

Before shouts grew loud

But from all the screams and hatred

One threat stood out from the crowd

“Off with her head!”

Screamed a man dressed in red

The sister’s stomach filled with dread

But a voice said, “Look here instead!”

Eyes turned to the voice

As weak as can be

The voice came from a man

Caged by a guillotine

“I,” said he,

With a raspy voice,

“I admit I’m not the king,

But when I lied, i had no choice.

“When you stormed the palace

All ready to behead

My brother was not there

He was already dead.

“So kill me,

If you must

My legacy

Has gone to dust

“But do not blame this girl

For telling what she knows.

This was an act of courage

And for that, she can not go.”

And so he spoke his final words

There was not a single protest

The guillotine chopped down

And he took his final breath.

This “king” is remembered

For tales of courage far and wide

Spread by the king’s new sister

Who remained by his side.

So I submitted this to a poetry contest and to ease my nerves I figured I might as well post it here. (Because why not? I haven't posted in agesssss)