Ophelia's Rights of the Mad

Hamlet looks down upon a woman he loved, but turned against, driving her to madness...

Swirling, Twirling,
My vital life
Long since drained in spirit,
Paints the walls red.
Tis the least I can do,
To create a final masterpiece,
From the depths of antiquity,
From the depths of the incensed.
Wouldn’t you agree, your highness?
As you sit on your self imposed throne,
Looking down at me as if I were the fool.
You never understood,
Emotion runs deeper than
The immaculate musing of a mechanical mind.
Shall I sing?
Shall I play for you one last time?
The young thing whose brightness blinds,
And darkness lights your way?
Chained in my past
I had an unquenchable thirst
For your love-my cure all,
But my salvation lay in
My own ways.
I take up the sword to cut my path,
To release me from the shadows of night.
Didn’t you say
That I deserved another tune?
One brighter than the last.
I stop to face you,
Chest heaving like so many nights before,
Softly, my promise:
As you wish.