Insignificance

Insignificance?

Macbeth strutted upon his stage
Unto his death to end his petty page;
The greatness of deed and misdeed shrink
As all disappear after a blink.

But, wait, do you know that name?
A lifeless character with everlasting fame,
Who breathed naught but fictional air,
A creature from pen and ink heir.

Was he created to line the purse
Of a self-centered dabbler of verse?
In his small world, the writer was king,
And all existed due to his making.

But in his more expansive view,
Away from him his importance flew;
The more who see his plays,
The less the impact his drama conveys?

A man's pettiness is more easily felt
By the tightness of the cinch upon his belt.
The shorter his reach, the less he touches,
The higher the boundary, the more hobbling his crutches.