Marble
News of Caesar's death breaks like a storm.
Octavius' face twists with rage and pain.
Dimly, you recall a seer warned
How far he'd go if he were not restrained:
The Tiber red with blood at his command,
Your hands forever stained by what you do,
The brick of Rome's great temples turned to sand,
And then to marble, city born anew.
Now, if ever, turn aside those wars,
Bring out his better nature. But your heart
Grieves when he grieves, soars as his heart soars,
Resigns yourself to play your bloody part.
Villain or hero matters not to love.
You'll leave the judgment to the gods above.
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