Is this a dagger which I see before me

I have been struggling to post. I want to - I really do, but starting the new semester at school has been brutal, I haven't been writing as much and when I do write I figure I should be writing pieces of fiction since I am taking a fiction class this semester at DU - assignment deadlines and all that. So I feel somewhat guilty when I write poetry. "You should be writing fiction!" I say.

I have figured that I really am more of a poet. Or maybe I have just been writing too much poetry. I struggle writing fiction. I guess I don't want things to be long and drawn out and I usually start pieces of fiction because of an image that I see in my head, but then the image becomes drawn out, or obscured by my attempting to create a story around it. I am hoping that I will learn a lot out of this fiction class, but right now I feel stuck.

At school I am steeped in Macbeth. Prepping the play to teach my juniors. They are in for a treat. I have some cool stuff planned for this one. It has been a long time since I read Macbeth and I had forgotten how cool this play really is. It is a very timely play as well.

And at last a poem - wrote this one while my students were doing a timed writing exercise.

Untitled - extra credit for help with a title

I descended into the earth
and found a chasm.
A hand, withered
and rotting,
reached forth.
It handed
me a book.
The title was obscured.
I read it.
It was good.
I would have returned
to you
to relate the tale,
but it was already
dark and
the boatman
kept waving me
forward.

As always comments are welcomed