Beware the ides of March,
April shall weep with us,
And May might even;
Beware the hanging mist,
Avoid the creeping fog,
And move out from the shadows.

Stand before everybody,
Let them hear the truth of your love
And explain that, that love is of the people
Which are of knowledge.

The children of reason,
The kids of virtue;
The lineage of Logic & Wisdom,
Of Innocence & Emotion.

Be wary of the pats on the back,
But less of those open in their criticisms.

Watch the blade which does not reflect,
Whoever hesitant to display their genuine feelings.

Keep your family closest,
But merely watch their wandering affections.

Keep your friends closer,
For at a distance you seem as enemies.

If neoliberalism urges caution
To our humanitarian approaches
But causes legislative bloat
And fosters lethargy,
Then neo-conservatism presses observance
To the safeguarding of our rights
But causes judicial confusion
And breeds separation.

Between us & I,
Between collective & individual.
So much joy amid the animosity,
So many cliques amid the niches.

Sadly concentrated & widespread-
What once was Orthodox is again
Within the eyes of most of man.

Such twists of countenances,
Such distortions of their own doctrines.

What scripture is not perverted?
What documents are not violated?

What laziness by the righteous
In eye of such cutthroat ruthlessness,
For the extent of the lack of justice
There is not nearly equal ire.

Get out & do something,
Stand up for what you believe in,
Lest you're unable.

Keep calm & carry on,
Be civil & observe decorum!
Keep calm & carry on,
Be dutiful & raise the standard!

There's barbarians on the border,
We're facing invasion
And enemies from within!
False citizens who lifted the gates;
Members of the house & senate,
District & magistrate.

The foreign threats grow,
We're completely surrounded
By enemies along our walls!
Backstabbing friends conspiring against us;
Those honored to be called partners & allies,
Apparatchik & Goldfasanen.

There's a war being waged
By the likes of values, beliefs-
Through our culture!
Capricious celebutantes with secret agendas;
Members of the paparazzi & cinema,
Big shot bankers & developers.

Every discussion is a battle,
For the extremists are everywhere,
By wealthy like terrorists!
Tyrannous minorities with their backdoor deals;
Those revered of the fraternal & esoteric,
Seedy elites & naive henchmen.

So much most repulsive, henious,
By perpetrators most traitorous.

She roams through El Dorado’s ancient golden ways,
She gazes from black spires of Xanadu,
She walks through green Lothlorien’s unclouded days,
She muses long on Ilium’s deep blue...

I’ve seen her in the chamber of the silver’d doors,
I’ve heard her when the loon in moonlight screams,
I’ve felt her walking silent over marbled floors...
I’ve been with her in echo-haunted dreams...

Minutes float by like water
you pass your quiet days,
difficult thoughts becoming hotter
don't drown, dear, into fault
it's just a phase,
just put your
bad and good on place.

Your thoughts fly like the wind
but it doesn't fan your fire,
your years just ticking away.
When will you require
that sincere naive fairy tale
to fade into grey?

You take your path as a road
which weaves like a wreath
and, after all it is slowed
to boring, joyless dance,
you feel wholly disturbed
like in sad episode.

Obediently, like a clock your heart goes
that is life-weary
and faith inside it froze,
it is weak being teary.

And your faith in a dream is in mind
it used to be joyful in flight,
but you're confused in a fight
with your fears which like beasts
lay in wait to eat you or bite.

But you, my love, have your time
to catch up with your dreams
just move on, try to climb
to the sky,
overcome all the frights.

Dreams will always be yours!
Spread your wings to take off
take whatever you want and know
that dreams will destroy all the flaws.

--
(Ukrainian)

Спливають, як вода, хвилини.
ти проживаєш тихо дні:
складні думки, тяжкі години..
в тих днях ти тонеш у вині,
ти розкладаєш по площинах
думки веселі і сумні.
летять як вітер ті думки,
та не роздує він багаття,
лиш тихо жевріють роки,
а в тих роках пусті заняття,
наївні, щирі, мов казки.
та йдуть в нікуди ті стежки.

Стежки сприймаєш за дорогу,
яка плететься, мов вінок,
та, зрештою, вона убога -
нудний, безрадісний танок,
і він ще й сповнений тривоги,
що встряла в серці, мов клинок.
покірно, як годинник, йде
те зморене життям серденько,
бо в ньому віра - більш ніде -
подавлена і вже слабенька.

То віра в мрію, що в думках
колись так радісно буяла,
та ти заплуталась в страхах,
які, мов звірі, чатували,
щоб ти здалась, щоб ти упала.

Та ти, любима, маєш час,
щоб свою мрію наздогнати,
бо кожне серце має шанс
та сили, щоб жахи здолати.
біжи до неї, доганяй,
вона твоя і буде завжди!
Розправ вже крила і злітай,
бери що хочеш, просто знай,
що мрії нищать негаразди.

Nature's Retreat

My heart sings songs parallel to the dance of rain
Where lyrics speak true to nature's mighty chorus
Of colorful leaves burned from early frost
Where green becomes gold and gold turns to red
And the animals, both big and small, hurry to get to bed

My heart speaks to these changes all around me
Embracing Fortuna as if she were my mother
Wishing that I, like the leaves, could also fall and be free
Released from loose bonds that sway with but a breeze
From mighty ******, third of his name, God of the wind
Who that deceitful Juno deceived, to blow steadfast
Aeneas away from hearts true love, to a bigger purpose
His own Goddess to please

Yet... It was not to be for me
Too strong were the currents from that vengeful Neptune
Who then commanded blue Oceanus to summon the monstrous gray Charybdis
Pulling down on the brown oars of my life, seeking to consume
That which I thought mine, as if spoken by an Oracle,
A future as free and varied as a rain soaked forest in fall
Before all falls to rest within the spiteful white teeth of winter
Leaving me to dance in the decay of nature's retreat

I then cry with Terra Mater, reminding her of the days
Where our hearts sang and we spoke in hushed whispers
Excited for the seasons change and the chance to rest
Yet... I am not prepared to say goodbye to her
Her beauty, to me, shines brighter than burning Sol
Me, a moth to her flame, is lost when she is away
Tormented by the memories of life living only to die
An endless cycle of pain that numbs the days spent waiting
For spring to rise once again and refresh my heart
From the desolation of the icy purgatory
And empty forests, skeletal in appearance,
A drab contrast to the songs of revival and lush trees
That are a favorite of the myriad dryads and nymphs
Whom orchestrate the natural melody of the Earth
While patiently awaiting my summer heat

I miss them like I will her, for soon I shall fall like the rain
Patiently awaiting my rebirth so that I might dance with her again

From Publius to Terra

Salve, amore mea,
I greet you from this new land,
My heart heavy with your absence,
Yet buoyed by the promise of our home.
...
Spare no thought for toils unfit for you,
My love, whose radiance rivals Juno.
A grand atrium will welcome your step,
Adorned with garlands for your triumph.
...
Through halls paved with Jove’s mosaic might,
Pastoral murals of Ceres’ fields will bloom,
Reflecting our farm in vibrant hues,
Your presence warming my impluvium’s heart.
...
A bedchamber awaits, fit for royalty,
Arched with cubes where Cupid dances,
His bow drawn to bind your heart to mine,
Sealing our love in eternal embrace.
...
All that remains is to build and sow,
Tilling under Sol and Luna’s gaze.
Watch over me, amore, from afar,
Your love my guide through field and toil.
...
I’ll write again with tales of this land,
Till our home rises to greet you.
Vale, amore mea,
The work endures for you.

Signed, PERTINAX

From Publius to Marcus

Marcus, I owe you an apology:
I named you Antinous to Gaius’s Hadrian,
Not in jest, but with a curse to the gods,
Wishing ruin on your treacherous shade.
...
This farm, this land, was my charge
Long before you donned your Janus mask,
Feigning peace while sowing strife,
A weevil gnawing at the heart of my grain.
...
You bring chaos to these fields,
A blight worse than drought or rot,
Corrupting Gaius with your impious charm,
His fields now fallow under your shadow.
...
While I toil, bone-weary, in the searing heat,
Tending your fields and mine,
Sweat and soil my offering to kin and gods,
You claim the harvest I’ve sown.
...
My altars brim with piety,
The Capitoline triad blesses my soul and soil,
Yet you, sweet Antinous, reap my plenty,
Lazing in the shade of my labor’s fruit.
...
No more. I sever ties with you and this land.
Keep these fields—a fitting pyre for your folly.
I forge you a parting gift: a wreath of thorns,
Culled from the ruin you’ve wrought.
...
Woe to your plow, doomed to rust,
While I seek new fields to tend.
My seeds will bloom under noonday sun,
Your name forgotten, your shadow undone.

Signed, PERTINAX

From Publius to Gaius

Gaius, how long have we toiled as one?
Three years, four, our sweat salting the soil?
Our blood yet stains each other’s altars,
Bound as brothers by the work’s sacred oath.
...
Have you forsaken that vow?
...
In shared turmoil, we wrestled petty thorns,
Crafting solutions from ceaseless strife.
Yet since Marcus came, you’ve turned away,
Leaving the labor to my weary hands.
...
Marcus, your jest of a comrade,
Fit for wine-soaked nights and fleeting charms,
Lacks the mettle to till or tend.
A leech, he clings, eyes wet with greed,
While I plow on, reaping what we sowed.
...
My sweat, my blood, still feed the earth,
While you share the harvest with his idle hands,
Tossing me scraps for fields I’ve raised.
...
He lounges in your atrium,
Savoring figs I’ve grown,
Lingering in leisure, not labor,
While the soil cries for care.
...
No more, Gaius. Keep your work,
And your Marcus, a shadow to your folly.
May your fields wither under his weight.
...
I offer myrrh and frankincense,
A final gift as I seek new lands.
My trade will thrive in greener fields,
Where seeds I sow will bloom unbound.
...
Under noonday sun, I’ll flourish,
While you and your work wilt without me.

Signed, PERTINAX

Mid Guðrum sê lêodgebyrga eft
On wanre niht, monajjfyllene!
Wulfe mîn geniwung! ond heorudreór,
Forescýwum wældreor-randwíga Ic,
Nêarra heoruwearg forþgêng
Monajjfyllene swâ! on hê byrnes scan
Æfre! êacen ond eotonweard æghwær,
Weelseaxe! ond êacnum ecgum Ic wæs,
Swâ bælegsan sê Ôfer-mann nu hâten,
Heolstorscuwae nu Ic, Lígetsliehtes Þegn,
Mid mîn styrme, æcse ond heorwe swâ!
Sê Brynewielm-Sundorgenga nu Ic!
Selden ond tówunderlic swâ
Norðanwinde eac Ísenhelm hâten,
Æfre scielde sê Ôfer-mann swâ Ic!
Wulfes êagum! ond hwítum fængtóþum,
Binnan swâ sweart wudubearo,
Mîn ðæt wildor, hwæt! on gehwæðre hond,
Eft sweordwígend ond sweordwund
Réadede Ic swâ! wundor sceawian Ic!
Hwonne swâ mîn gúðgewæde,
Beorht bleóreádan bladesungum
Hwæt! æfre sê feorhléan wæs swâ,
Ond uferra sîn heolfrig andweorc
Swâ âstemped eft mîn cwealmdréor!
Ærdæd unsigefæst þær biþ
Mînes gewilles beadwum swâ,
Hwonne sprindlíce, giet monajjfyllene!
Beadwe-grîman Sceade Heorudreór gladaþ,
Hwonne swâ snyttrum ond singale!
Êcan arodscipes hringedstefna
Þunringe mîn ealdor-dôm âheardaþ,
Hwonne stearcheort on ecnesse swâ!
Onforeweard Þunores Heall heoru-drêore
Mîn scinn wiðerwinna flângeweorc
Ealfela! giet on wanre niht eftwyrde,
Stíele ond forescýwan! sê Ôfer-mann Ic,
Swâ wæpenþracu! Swâ sigorwuldor!
Æledfýre bisene Ic, sê Swígtíma-Wrecend!
Swâ Mônan Wulfe! dæges ond nihtes nu!
Hríðe mîn írenhelme gegangan:

HERMÓÐR REGIS GOTHORVM VLTOR
FVLMINE IGNIQVE IN BELLO TERRÆ
ÚLFHEÐINN VINDEX SVPREMVS
IN SPIRALIS VINDICTÆ SACRA FLAMMA
ET MAGNO CORVSCANTE SPECVLO
IVGITER ALTO INCENDIO MIHI REDITVS
CALIGINIS HRAFNSMERKI VEXILLAQVE
AB VLTIMA THVLE SACRA FLAMMA
IGNEO SANGVINEQVE HÖÐR EXPVGNATOR
SICVT LVPVS VLTIMÆ THVLE TONITRVQVE
DECIMO ANNO FELICIS VINDICTÆ
VINDEX SVPREMVS INVICTVSQVE DENVO
CÆRVLEO FVLMINE IN BELLO TERRÆ
SACRA FLAMMA OVERMAN SCYLD.

Love, unruliest hope, when fierce Diana went wild
With savage discourse, the arrow-stroke of her tongue—
While rage-hounds bay in wooded Gargaphie—aimed at Actaeon.
Or old Baucis her god-giving bone fat of mind,
Stewed the broth of covenant for Zeus to repay in kind.
Then Parthenope, siren-stung in her whirlpool of sea vines,
Her maiden-voice is a breath of sand for Naples to muse upon.
The body of Helen still lies in ages-old smoke over our cities,
We live in the timberframe of her bones of burned ships.
Why can’t her death be an end to all skies?