On Ophelia’s Death.
Forget all logic, all confession-
Why worship age-long decomposition?
We paint a pattern, soft and fair,
To hide the shame that festers there.
A jester fit this play, not she-
Yet Hamlet was her destiny.
She loved him — pure, without defense.
And lost her mind to innocence.
He chose revenge, he saw in all
Deceit and flattery’s quiet call.
He trusted none — not love, not grace
And thus his kingdom lost its face.
He could not bear a killer crowned,
His father’s ghost still walked the ground.
Around him — lies, and everywhere
He doubted even love’s own prayer.
As Adam blamed his Eve for daring,
For touching truth beyond all bearing,-
What she, Ophelia, could not try,
Became the cause she had to die.
On Ophelia s Death
© Copyright: Марина Кужман, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125102908126
Свидетельство о публикации №125102908126
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