My Melancholy Tune

My Melancholy Tune

On this day, the Ides of March

neither the heaven nor earth

have been at peace,

for my Julius has shown his worth.

Even though the Soothsayer

bid him be careful,

he went down to the Capitol

for he was so dutiful.

It was there that they betrayed him,

those fiends that he called his friends.

They praised him and appealed to him

as they ran his blood through their hands.

Who were they, to claim the right?

I need proof of their proclamations.

Where is his ambition?  I see it not.

All I see are false accusations.

When the Senators dealt

their harsh and fatal blow,

my world, crushed and shattered,

was as fragile as a flake of snow.

Where was the justice

in their cruel act of hate?

They should have left their Rome

in the dear hands of Fate.

What reason have I to live?

What holds me to this earth?

My family?  My friends?  My Rome?

None of these have any mirth.

My husband is gone,

leaving me to sing tunes

so dramatic, so melancholy.

I’m singing them to the moon.

All the riches of Rome could not

shine for me like the stars in the sky.

The moon to which I croon stares

down at me with a look so wry.

As the sun rises on the horizon,

all I see is a land of grey.

All I hear are the solemn words,

“Et tu, Brute?”

Author's Note

A poem "written by Calpurnia," about Caesar's death.