This is my found poem, its lines borrowed from Shakespeare's Macbeth. I apologize to any readers who find themselves irritated by the alignment of this piece. That said, I would like to mention that the shape is a visual representation of how night suddenly morphs into a messy disorder.
The Stern'st Goodnight
what is the night?
to lie in restless ecstasy, never at quiet
weary with disasters upon the quarter of the moon
the live-long night, the torture of the mind
equivocates him in a sleep
and leaves him
disheartens him
Night's black agents to their preys do rouse
whiles Darkness does the face of earth entomb.
spurn fate, scorn death,
hover through the filthy air
and let the frame of things disjoint!
The owl shriek'd!
daggers upon their pillows!
Both worlds suffer!
his blood is cold.
sleep no more!
Pray For This Good Man
Goodnight.
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