England, Uk

Rosalind whispers where wild winds roam, Beatrice laughs in echoing stone. Mark Antony's cry still shakes the air, Shylock's shadow lingers—silent despair. Juliet's sigh drifts, a fading light, While Hamlet broods through sleepless night. Iago breathes in poisoned schemes, Where virtue waltzes with wicked dreams. I see them walk in the world anew, Ghosts unyielding, their voices true. The stage is set, the tale unwinds, Where treachery and truth entwine. Is this the river that will not bend, Or fate we fail to comprehend? My soul cries out, my spirit pleads— Do we drift, or shape these seas? The liars rise on thrones of gold, While innocence weeps in sorrow untold. The boastful feast, the cunning reign, As honest hearts break beneath their chain. Oh, silent hand that weaves the strands, Do you watch with open hands? My tears surge forth, an endless tide, A prayer, a plea, a world denied. Yet in your words, I seek the key, To free the truth that calls to me. Through every line, through every verse, I glimpse both blessing and its curse. For in the mirror of your art, I find the world—I find my heart.