Tomorrow, subsequent to the break of day,
We will have lynched the one leading Rome astray.

The tyranny of the perfidious scourge eradicated,
His appetency for power never sated,
An insatiable, deleterious rapacity,
For power beyond human capacity.

No man ought ever to climb, to rise,
So high, whilst so feeble, so unwise,   
Assume the might of a god, an Olympian throne,
Shamed art thou, Rome, to such conduct condone!

When I pierce thy heart, Caesar, tomorrow,
Be sure, no regret, no sorrow shall follow,
When no golden ichor splatters from your veins,
But human blood, red blood, with scarlet stains.

Every honest man Caesar bamboozled and deceived,
Every honest man who credulously, naively believed,
Shall soon eulogise our cause, my name.
Throughout Rome shall resonate my fame!

Aye, Caesar, take heed!
For soon, every man in Rome shall be freed!

Yet the prospect of the murder ahead,
Sends chills down my spine, and wherefore?
I fear I do not wish Caesar dead,
I fear I am not ready for what is in store...

The prospect of taking the life,
Of one who I know well,
Over personal matters, strife,
When his intentions, none can tell...

Nevertheless, Caesar must perish,
Perhaps not "for the general good" or moral abuse,
Yet this idealistic republican dream they all cherish,
Shall provide an excellent excuse.

For any manoeuvre to augment my notorious name,
In influence, in honour, to bring me good fame,
I shall engage, for if Caesar dislikes my person,
And is now become a god, my reputation shall worsen.

Nevertheless, with Brutus at my side,
My intentions ingeniously shall seem benevolent,
My personal gains shall simply… coincide.
They would seem utterly irrelevant.

Even so, I feel an obstinate unease, 
Refusing to liberate my conscience, a pest,
An involuntary tremor in my knees,
Rancour rising up in my chest.

For if Brutus were to steal the ovation,
Claim the lead, and be the object of the crowd's elation,
I would never again see consolation.
Until Brutus' final extermination.

He had palpably demonstrated his intention,
To take the lead, with more than a casual mention,

In regard to Cicero...
Perhaps he is not as innocuous as he appears: 
As much a threat as he is vital to the conspiracy: O woe!
This intertwined complexion affirms my fears!

And what, what of the others, what of every last Caesar’s friend?
Would they twist the minds of Rome as Caesar against my ways?
Would the minds of the people be so easy to bend? 
Would my vision be wrecked by Brutus' carelessness, in so many ways?

Nettlesome nitpickers frequently accuse me of many crimes,
Misdemeanours: only rightly one in four times!
And when I thoughtlessly, vehemently deny,
They call me a slippery snake, wicked and sly.

Perhaps, there is an element, but an element, of truth,
In what they say, however, I am a noble Roman, and I am couth,
But perhaps, if it all gets out of control, and fails our fatal errand,
Then, naturally, I will name the originator Brutus, call it all by his hand.

If we are discovered, unmasked and prevented,
Then I shall make certain that the whole group will have consented,
That we followed Brutus on his noble quest,
Yet if we succeed, I will be the leader, the one who did best.

First and foremost, we shall Caesar restrain.
See his expression, this god, looking terrified and in pain.
Then, I shall show him the situation, I shall explain,
We shall then finish him, and I shall contrite feign.

Whilst demonstrating to Rome, the scarlet knife
Saying that no other way could end his curse,
But that of taking his life.
His intentions must have been worse.

And still I fear I lack the courage to speak to all Rome, even his wife,
Holding up that cursed, damned, scarlet stained knife.
Would not Anthony, or some other, come up behind, where all can see.
And stab me in the back, lacerate my honour: have me captured in being free?

And what if, without an oath,
Uncertainty in other men's hearts grow'th?
Would I lose my followers, stand alone?
I would be to all dooms prone.

However, I must banish every morose thought.
For I, of feeble metal, am not wrought.

This kairotic moment, this defining time,
Shall in the eyes of Rome atone for every my crime.
Generations will be told of my courage: this is only the start,
I shall be depicted at Hercules' side, him with the lion skin, I with Caesar's heart!

I feel such a concoction of horror and hope,
I do fear my human form shall not cope!
Boiled in the cauldron of the Fates,
Overshadowed by all that awaits!

Staring into a whirlpool of all that can be,
Still living in another world, ignorant to my location,
Believing the heat is emotion within me,
When the worlds of reality and the Fates form their relation.

For what seems like an eternal duration,
They scavenge me for information,
It is only a moment, I know it to be little,
Yet subconsciously, my bones turn brittle.

I know this to be my imagination,
This strange phantasmagoria, of short duration.
Yet I sense something inside my soul is boiling, spinning.
And I feel the stare of the Fates... grinning.

By Gustavs Zilgalvis

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