The World of Myth Magazine

They rendered unto Caesar his dying breath.
Left him without thought, nor eye, nor ear.
You rendered unto me your uncool betrayal.
Left me with neither trust nor peace.

I didn't hear then that raven's call,
the clear warning
of that dark bird,
who came as the harbinger of your designs
that snapped my nerves,
laid the weight carried by a Titan's son
across my chest.

Treachery, deception,
undertaken in that blip of time
that divides the long eternities,
both before and after you.

That now loudly sounding blip I crawl through,
each year on the Ides of March.

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