Macbeth

I am savagery, veiled behind the glory of my courage and bravery in battle I wonder upon my fate, thus presented by the wretched witches...Thane of Cawdor... the future King I hear voices in my head announcing the seed of evil that shall soon flourish I see the horrific moment when my hands must wipe at any obstacle that stumbles in my path to ultimate greatness I want with the deepest darkest desires, the crown upon my head and everlasting glory below my feet I am miserly, veiled behind my apparent regards toward my ‘beloved” Duncan I pretend to forsake the prophecy foretold by the witches, when in reality every moment since solely revolves around it I feel the adrenalin running through my veins as the bell summons my hand to become the red tinted instrument of death I touch the pristine water that will never be able to cleanse my murderous, blood stained hands I worry that the deed I have committed will travel from ear to ear in a matter of seconds I cry knowing that my soul shall never know ease, for not even the holiest of words can escape my lips (amen) I am the enemy, veiled behind my supposed rage for the king’s death I understand that there are no vines attached to my throne, and my reign over Scotland will abruptly halt I say that Banquo and his offsprings shall never benefit from the fruits of my labor I dream of only dreadful thoughts, because I am marked with the guilt of my deeds I try over and over to secure my throne and not allow the slightest of people to interpose I hope my end will never come close, for there is no man born of woman to fear I am Macbeth all powerful and grandiose, yet weak and minuscule