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.

 

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