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The Dead are but as Pictures (William Shakespeare, Lady Macbeth)

Owl eyes of Night,
impassive orbs
veiling pins of ebony,
watch under moonless sky.
The air is sharp as a steel dagger;
Lady Macbeth
staggers under her purple shawl,
wielding an air-drawn weapon.

In the Justice of Time she will punish
her well-loved husband and Sire,
squeamish executioner of the King.
When blood of Great Cawdor's veins
flows from corners of her lips,
she'll have loved him as savage Night loves Death.
For the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures.

And tomorrow
Lady Macbeth will dream that perfumes of Arabia
washed clean the spots on her hands;
she'll fancy Birnam Wood never marched
towards hills of Dunsinane;
doubt ill-omened harpies
who mix truth and falsity.

Tomorrow
destiny will have entombed her
outside ramparts of consecrated earth
beside demented reprobates.
The quills of Albion's Bard
immortalized her deed
and Furies condemned her forever.

Red flows the Styx with blood of the dead:
Cerberus inclines his threefold head,
as she lingers beside shores of Hades.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Editing stage: 
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Not Explicit Content

Comments

Hello Gracey!

I wish that I was versed in the great Shakespeare plays. Your poem clearly covers much ground that I simply do not remember -if I ever knewall of it. It was a college course back in the 1970’s where I was required to read the plays….

So, onto form… something perhaps I make a contribution to… S1 is eight lines, the remainders are 7 lines. Perhaps make the verses the same length? I would separate the last 3 line verse into one lines ot may be two. Much more impact that way IMHO. ‘Course you’d need to work with the rhyme some…

I do not mean to tread on your creativity…. Just my humble opinion.

Example:

Red flows the Styx with blood of the dead.

Cerberus inclines his threefold head,
as she lingers beside shores of Hades.

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Raywhitakerblog.wordpress.com
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Hello Ray, thanks so much for dropping by and making such useful suggestions. I like what you say and will try to fix the format.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

pictures are indeed, dead! Without remembrances of and emotion, the dead do not do justice to themselves! Lady Macbeth
had the soul of a picture. ~ Geez.
.

Hi Geez, thanks so much for visiting and commenting. I understand you like what I've written...lol. I'm following Ray's suggestions to tidy my poem up a little.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

I said the same thing
but by then
SHAKES was dead
sad no he missed me

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