The Lover of a Madman
Lady of wit that oft forgot thy place,
Clever were thine eyes that saw through my mind,
Yet blind to evils that doth match my face,
For acts of my hand, thine heart was too kind.
Strong was thy being, and mind to match mine,
Thy speech was a fool now made mute.
Little was hidden from the mind of thine,
So silence befalls this bard and her lute.
Thou art but a woman now cold,
Thy blood on my hands but that of one more,
Thy voice still dost make my secrets unfold,
My blood is now on the hands of thee, whore.
If but one thing Emilia dost show,
Tragedy is what thy love can bestow.
Clever were thine eyes that saw through my mind,
Yet blind to evils that doth match my face,
For acts of my hand, thine heart was too kind.
Strong was thy being, and mind to match mine,
Thy speech was a fool now made mute.
Little was hidden from the mind of thine,
So silence befalls this bard and her lute.
Thou art but a woman now cold,
Thy blood on my hands but that of one more,
Thy voice still dost make my secrets unfold,
My blood is now on the hands of thee, whore.
If but one thing Emilia dost show,
Tragedy is what thy love can bestow.
♠ ♠ ♠
A sonnet I wrote from the perspective of Iago, the antagonist in Shakespeare's OthelloTowards the end of the play, after Emilia (Iago's wife) has died, I imagined our murdering friend would feel some remorse for his now dead wife, even though it seems it was soon forgetten.
Anyways, Enjoy! And SHAKESPEARE FTW.