The voices of a plague
Arguing every which way
They never cease except to agree on better pay
Until the Emperor stands
Quieting any in his way
The prisoners will be hanged
And the people are needing grain
Enough of petty and greedy mistakes
If the Senate is content to do nothing but harangue
Then the Emperor will rise from the grave
And squash democracy for tyranny
For the people's sake
So they can eat and live in peace
And that will be a bitter day
But Ceasar may already be on his way.

The compression grip of longing grabs my heart
And squeezes it.
It occurs whenever I ponder on a life I have not
Lived yet or a feeling that I long to experience.
Whenever I feel incomplete or unsure,
Or need reassurance; it comes and goes
Like a summer breeze.
But the beat goes on and on.