A poem I wrote for English class about Lady Macbeth. I thought I'd try my hand at sonnets, but it might not have worked out well, and appears to have turned into an epic narrative confined to sixteen lines.
Fiend-Like
My dear, when she said to 'unsex me here'
We were inclined to grant her that wish
For we are sexless, we women with beards
We mannish girls who are lost in the mist
It was she who called us, one must know well
With gleeful pleas that we could not ignore
She would be our child, our daughter in hell
And we her mothers, her sisters, and more
The fiend-like queen joined in our revels
But saw what she would have to become
For witches are empty, we're Lucifer's shells
Hideous to look at, inhabited by none
But now I'm sure that you know all the rest
She died by poison or knife to her breast