Tower of London, England – Ghost of Anne Boleyn
Where the Thames moves black and silent,
under England’s coldest skies
The White Tower rises heavy–full of secrets, full of lies
Every stone is memory, every corridor a vein
The air is thick with judgments, betrayal, love, and pain
Within the castle’s prison, a queen’s sorrow clings
Anne Boleyn’s spirit pacing, fingerless hands clutching dreams
Her voice flutters like raven wings at the chopping block’s base
Condemned by her king, beheaded for a fleeting trace
Steel and chill, the Tower holds history’s rot in place
Condemned lovers and traitors, every captive, every face
She walks with no head, pale dress dragging on the stair
Eyes that never close, lips that beg the air
Sometimes she’s laughter behind a locked door
Sometimes only sobbing that chills the ancient floor
Stone sweats in the fog, each arch a pulse of dread
The condemned don’t sleep here, the living count the dead
Etched in the walls are last hopes, scratched by trembling hands
Dates and names, pleas to gods, curses on distant lands
The Bloody Tower aches with memory–mothers, brothers, sons
All betrayed by power, cut down when day was done
Beauchamp’s carvings echo–words caught in ancient lime
Every plea a relic, every signature a crime
Night falls thick and sticky, ravens pace the battlement’s rim
Guardians of an empire built on whim
From Traitors’ Gate to scaffold, each path runs cold and wet
Anne waits for the dawn, but the sun forgets
Her shadow stains the stairwell, hem tangled in regret
The axe falls silent now, but the ghosts cannot forget
Hear the scrape of silk slippers down a corridor unseen
The hush of desperate prayers for pardon from a queen
Somewhere in the hush, the city sleeps and dreams
But within the Tower, nothing is ever as it seems
The ravens circle, guardians with eyes as black as fate
Each caw a warning, a promise–none shall escape
Mist crawls the yard, wraps the Tower in dread
Every exhale is a shiver, every heartbeat led
By phantoms clutching sorrow, by justice never found
By the echo of a queen kneeling on cursed ground
Silent screams uncoil, lost in morning’s chill
History tightens the noose, memory always kills
Anne’s shadow flutters, sometimes pale, sometimes bold
A daughter’s plea unanswered, a story never told
Her grief winds through iron bars, chills the very stone
Here in London’s Tower, she is never alone
Fate carves its initials, blood rusts on the blade
The past gnaws on the present, old debts never paid
History repeats, the Tower stands, night after night
Haunted by the headless queen, haunted by the light
You leave as you entered–uneasy, watched, and small
The Tower looms eternal, refusing to fall
Boleyn’s steps follow you into the waking day
A warning and a blessing you can’t brush away
Somewhere beneath the stones, sorrow finds its place
The Tower of London, a prison, a grave, a haunted embrace