The Scottish Play

Its too late to be awake.

Devastation crawls in the wake

of everything.

My eyes are burning

physically, actually

in no poetic manner

my eyes are burning with 

the after smoke of tears.

I will sleep, exhaustion does prevail

but how will I live tomorrow?

How will I make like Macbeth

and tomorrow

and tomorrow and tomorrow

because Dunsinane is already here

The forest is here, the soldiers are here

the King is dead

and a tyrant rules on the throne

What a day,

what a night

what a spot that will not get out

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

It will not get out, the bloody red

Maybe I will make like Lady Macbeth

and ruin myself

with heartbreak.

Yet who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him.

She died. He died.

May we survive tomorrow

and tomorrow

and tomorrow.