The Ides of March

Beware the ides of march! they say
BEWARE BEWARE! STAY AWAY!
Julius Caesar, such am I?
it cannot be! I cannot die!
I feel alive for I have found love
I swore it to the gods above
yet here I lie cold and wet
Drenched, gushing my crimson regret
Et Tu Brute? escapes my lips
He thinks he can fix this with his trips?
I'd laugh had he not pierced my lung
The late noon bells have finally rung
twenty-three stabs all in all
let them watch their Caesar fall
a cold sharp blade for every lie
a stab for every time I cry
For me there is no Antony
No one cares to avenge me
Alas! Julius Caesar has died!
As for me? well...
I'm only dead on the inside.

Reviews

[GTVile]

Wow, this was very witty. Drenched in sorrow, makes a brutal point eloquently, and refers back to a classic. I like it.

[Looouise]

I don't have any nifty review here to write, but I just wanted to say that I quite like this poem. :]