Ides of March


Beware the Ides of March

halo rims the sun’s shadow;

on field edge


owl hunts.


Nothing comes of nothing

nothing ever does:

power hover’s in the hands


of nondescript.


Old friends betray

Julius rises from his

dusty grave


to warn us.


Fools trump the land

that never was free;

yet star spangled flag


promises succour,

offers blood.


Beware the Ides of March

the peril you can’t see

when all our dreams


become a destiny of dust.


Cataclysmic days

promise unrest

sun scorched by thin veneer


of eggs over easy.


To listen to poem click here




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