Memento Mori Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

To govern Rome, focussed only on eating and drinking,
I put all concerns on the shoulders of my legionnaires.
Naturally I donate them public lands and plunder
(to my spies I also give land, else they would grumble) .

‘A virtuous and prayer can not govern’, say the courtiers,
(yet, I drowse fearing that one of them may try to kill me) .

As for my people…well, I’m trained to tell them fables,
offer them bread slices to survive, spectacles to enjoy.
I trap their brain offering them parades, duels, feasts;
buying for them such intoxication, you govern and grasp.

I became a grand master in this, I own skilful tentacles,
so now I rest in tranquillity, on pillows of certainty,
I play the people over my fingertips, the legionnaires.
I have not build Rome in one day. As I have formed it,
you all need more than a lifetime to destruct it.

That’s what I thought...until when Braetos stubbed me.
I listen again the slave in my coronation yelling in my ears
memento mori, not to forget that one day would be my last.
The soul’s salvation won't cost a lot of brain to consider,
but in front of my mirror I didn’t recognise my drunk self,
nor did I see Charon who found an empty chair in my table
and sat, ate and put me my last dress for earthen cavity.

Now I breathe my last, still I save time to learn that:
it takes just a day for Rome to become a heap of ruins.



© JosephJosephides