Of Scottish Plays

From the highest noble grace,
Comes a fall of complete disgrace.
Unruly thoughts plagued your mind,
Brought from three of the unpleasant kind.

Shadows seep through your walls,
Eyes over your shoulder, your sword never stalls.
The ones you once held highly,
You disposed of not so mercifully.

And from this your enemies gather;
Desperation brings your sword down on innocents rather
Than face the thought of your reputation tarnished,
Murder, murder, murder, conscience banished.

Ambition was what drove you
Arrogance was what crippled you.
A swing of a sword ends your tyranny,
And so is the fall of Macbeth, once called worthy.