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Lady Macbeth
LH ( / London)

Lady Macbeth

Once she was tender, soft skin, soft heart, milk
Of human kindness pouring from her veins;
What caused her heart to freeze? Her gown of silk
Petrified lava, her birthing pains
Ceased with her stillborn babies stiffly lying
On the stone table, cast off, done,
Sprawled flat and useless waiting for a sighing
Never heard, for she had seen her sons
Born from her bleeding womb, then the scream
She should have hurled choked in her throat;
No sound, no tear, no color, just a gleam
Icicle sharp came into her eye and heart
And all her thoughts scattered, reflecting
The candle light, pieces of eight, dollars, rings of gold,
Bracelets of silver, diamonds glittering
Crowns shining and thrones beckoning
A new sense, new thrill with no reckoning,
Platinum ambition, dagger, orb.

User Rating: 4,2 / 5 ( 6 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

Linda, I can't express how much this poem means to me. I am currently writing a book about Lady Macbeth (well, trying to) and I thought I was the only person who had any sympathy for her.10.