Meanwhile, Melody Muses…

Et tu, Brute?

Delivering wound in Russian roulet

Smiling the while, this game you play

Silences dawn, and drears the day

Beginning.

A so-called friend?

Ideas grow as germs that wend

Their scurrilous way to journey’s end

The better to bow and then to bend

My winning.

What do you gain?

You drive the nail to screw the pain

And follow blow with blow in vain

You cannot lock me up again

In prison.

Will you let go?

Your work just wakes the beast below

And anger rises, growling low

His power finds, in undertow,

Derision.