We were born for greatness of strange others-
But we can not fail. As told by mothers,
Who hold their children tighter than cold death.
But what if they are but doomed like Macbeth,
With his greatness lined with bodies and sham-
filled plans. Where the once great becomes the damn.
His fault was in ambition uncontrolled,
Then coupled with actions evil and bold,
But he did succeed at least for a while,
and yes, I admit his methods were vile.
I do not contain that corrupted soul,
actions of evil would take a great toll,
Even though, I still dream of greatness placed
even in talk, my quick mind makes such haste.
I wonder and wonder how it would have felt to have sailed,
On victorious wings over the previously failed.
Where the wind smells of voices reciting, feeling,
breathing, essence of life and hopefully healing.
But still, I’m built for greatness and can’t fail
Then why do I feel wings over me sail?

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