Thoughts after Death

Et tu, Bruté?

Look at my friend

His knife in hand

And greed in mind

Killed me with a single stride

Of his blade across my side.



Stabbed by a lover

Killed by conspirators

Avenged by a follower

Who made the angry louder

The hands of red

Marked those who made my death

But their hands of red

Is why they fled

For their own fates were now sealed

And their heads would be peeled.

Et tu, Bruté?

Is what I said.