#classicalpoetry
What tale shall be whispered of thee
When shadows swallow thy name?
Shall they speak of a tyrant’s decree,
Or a hand that uplifted the lame?
Didst thou rob from the weak in their plight,
Or sow seeds where compassion would grow?
A builder of bridges to light,
Or a harbinger cloaked in woe?
What words shall carve thy epitaph deep,
A thought for the living to keep?
Remember, my friend, with each breath we borrow,
Nothing endures—not even the morrow.
The nightingales sing—but their song fades away,
As fleeting as dusk at the end of the day.
We all tread upon shifting sand,
An undeniable, silent command,
Inscribed by fate, unrefined,
Etched in the scrolls of time.
The just and unjust alike depart,
Whether noble of soul or dark of heart;
Yet all shall leave, through right or wrong,
Footprints faint, yet lingering long—
Woven into the sands of time,
A legacy, whispered in rhyme.
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 2:30 PM UTC
Dedication
In Memory of Caesar Augustus
To those whose legacies outlive their lives— whose names, like embers,
still warm the memory of the world
Epigraph
“He found Rome a city of brick and left it a city of marble.”
— Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars
I gaze— at walls now clothed in silence,
veiled in dust and patient time,
where shadows harden like old wax
and thought dissolves into hush.
Yet I shall not weep.
No tear shall stain this wearied cheek.
I have wept the heavens pale—
too many borne away
in time’s unanswering breath,
drawn from earth
into realms unnamed.
Another day in mourning’s robe,
I rise with broken breath.
My heart—a shattered chalice—
still beats for what is lost.
Though this is not my way,
I must write
this song of parting.
We have lost—
how swiftly we have lost:
in a breath,
a blink,
a whisper in the tide of days.
Lives stilled
before their stories closed.
Yet this elegy is not for all.
It is for the flame
that dared the dark—
the soul that strode through time
and vanished
like a star withdrawn.
He fell
not into dust,
but into legend.
And I shall not mourn him,
for he who lived well
lives still
beyond the veil.
This I set down
in remembrance of thee,
O Caesar Augustus,
first of thy name,
crowned not with gold,
but with deeds
death could not unmake.
The imprint of thy steps
rests in the breath of Rome,
echoes through winter winds,
sleeps in Italia’s vineyards,
wakes in the rusted arms of Spain,
sings in the stones of Greece,
rides the mist of Gaul
and distant isles.
Thy grandeur lingers—
in empires raised upon thy dream,
in rulers who shaped themselves
within thy long shadow.
Ah—what a life:
not merely lived, but forged;
not fleeting, but flame.
What a passing—
with banners trailing starlight
and thunder bearing thy name.
Thy victories lie etched in honour,
set upon scroll and sword,
outlasting even time’s dust.
For ages yet unborn,
thy name shall rise—
a compass for the bold,
a measure for the brave.
Across the earth,
and far beyond its bounds,
the young shall speak of thy reign.
Minds of vision shall invoke thy name.
Hands veiled in reverence
shall crown thy memory
with laurel and white stone.
And voices yet unformed
shall lift their songs—
praising the ruler
who bowed only
to the gods.
O humble, exalted flame,
not extinguished, but gathered—
thou art not gone.
Thou art remembered.
Thou art crowned
in the kingdom
of the eternal.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 3:41 PM UTC