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I Blame Ye Not (Song to Brutus: Part Two)

At least you, child,
Had the decency to kiss the dagger
With which thou rent my Heart.

I have much time, to think about things now.
I could notice every hungry stare at my Crown,
But not the sheer Trickery played by those Carrions on thee.

Surely, they would have persuaded you their cause was Just,
Using the Honour thou cherishes most
As ammunition against thee.

I blame ye not, Brutus, for how could I?
If even my Angel has turned a blade against me,
There is no point to living, simply to breathe.

– Desdemona

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Caesar (Ghost)’s Song to Brutus

Forget me not, my darling,
I pray you forget me never.

Mimosa pudica  I may be,
Though my bones exalt in reverie,
Don't forget our love,
As pure as an ivory dove.

For you were friend and
Brother to my bones,
My forgotten soul remembers
The laughs we've shared 
From times old.

Though as poison ivy
You hath struck me,
Purpled and venom-tongued, envenomed,
I shall but wither 
As a Forget-me-not,
While Roses and Briars
Over my tomb do conspire.

– Desdemona

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This Too Shall Pass

Stop! What are you doing?
Your life is ebbing away,
And here you are, ever idling.

The world is still spinning,
The sultry Swallow's birdsong still sounds,
The flowers still bloom,
And Life moves on.

Your labours shall last forevermore,
Your worries shall never end,
For as you live and breathe,
You shall be troubled yet.

For that is Life, my friend,
Full of beauty and sorrow in equal measure,
And so many feelings strange and new,
While so familiar, and so old.

So take heart! Move on!
Go forth, knowing that 
There shall be greater follies than this to come.
The road is tough, the path is long,
But where it leads,
Is your life's call.

– Desdemona

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The Jester’s Sinful Privilege

"I jest ye not,
I only know what I see,
And that is a Fool on Our throne."
A peasant once said,
Only to find, the very next day,
His entire family dead.

The man himself
Was hanged for treason,
When in reality,
There was not one,
A proper reason.

A jester that day,
Made the very same claim,
In hopes that his fate,
Would end without much pain.

Yet that horrible crowd,
On hearing his rave,
Just laughed, complete and unfazed.

Had the peasant donned the mask of this harlequin,
His life would not only be spared,
He would be lauded for his comedic praise.

– Maya Desdemona

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Ghosts of Time

I am haunted,
Haunted by ghosts.
'Could have been', 'Should have been',
'Could be', and 'Should be' 
Are their names.
Alas, it is only these four
That fill my lonesome days.

'Could have been',
'Could have been',
How pitiful you are!
Your grandiose wishes
Were crushed by
Circumstance and chance.

'Should have been'
Shushes all others,
A pearl among the gems.
He lies like a carcass
Hewn for the hounds, helpless.

'Could be' is the cruellest of them all,
A cry to the present,
But to 'face thyself' is to 'face thy enemy',
'Tis but a cascading conquest.

'Should be' is the sternest,
The shrillest of the four,
The future is in her hands,
Though the past is set in stone.

These companions, mine,
Seem to enter the eye
Only in the depths of Night,
To flow like sand under a rock,
Wasting hours of my life.

– Maya Desdemona