The Ides of March
The Ides of March, cruel fate’s Spring Cleaning Day.
Solid walls collapsing around his head.
The day his trusted friends leave him for dead.
Mighty kingdoms burn and dreams die today.
Bull market's passed; today bears rule the fray.
Before the Reaper the strong bow their head.
Mt. Everest's fate? To fall, eroded.
Great ebb, mighty flow, tide into the bay.
Destructive Yin Chi, sharp teeth, bloody horns,
‘Ere Vishnu repairs, Shiva does his worst.
Before a sowing, the garden’s demise.
The sunlight must fade before every morn.
In every blessing, this implicit curse.
For nothing could grow if nought ever dies.
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016