Meditation on Lady Macbeth:
Sleepwalking through her part,
where talk is cheap and no
argument can undo what’s done.

No matter how hard the work,
the smell of blood remains,
the flavor of blood in the air,
red stain that equals her guilt.

Fake somnolence to hide
hands that will never match
that innocent rosy pink
before what’s done was done.
 
 
This poem was written for Miz Quickly’s Day Twenty-Three challenge providing twelve possible words to use in a poem. I used ten of the twelve: lady, part, cheap, argument, work, flavor, equals, fake, match, pink.