Noble Macbeth

Noble Macbeth! Perverted by a scheming wife, Oh sorry fate! So write the critics ,mainly men, but you, Macbeth, and I know better. She was the fourth witch who brought home the message of the spectral three. She was the helpmeet of your choosing who spoke out what you dared but think. Yet noble you were, like Lucifer, lord of the false dawning light, And proud you were as he who scorned Creation for being not his. While they who love continue creation, grow fruitful as the vine, They who hate are barren, must hate the seeds of life and wish their death. So with you, the vanquished of Banquo’s seed, whose death was life. You have one weapon yet, to mock what you cannot beget, To declare all vain, an illusion, a cheap trick, an idiot’s tale Though you named “King” do wear the gilt-rimmed crown, I hear your end’s approach. I hear the rustling of leaves, and though you hang the herald of truth On the gnarled trunk of a dying tree, green leaves and fresh wood advance. To the hill they come to close you up and cross your vain ambition. Where died a seed a plant shall grow whose leaves shall heal the nations