On the day of my coronation,
The wreath placed on my head weighed
The world’s greatest empire on my shoulders.
Father made me a king,
Long before I ever even became a man.
My fellow Senators, overheard
With Canines’ needs ignored,
As sacrifices burned, without fuss or plea,
All at the discretion of “C o m m o d u s”,
Chiseled in bold marble gold.
“Earn it my son”
“I want applause not philosophy,” I stated
The “Great Marcus Aurelius,” as scrawny as can be
I could smell blood already
Not in Senate wall but in Colosseum sands.
My old man urged breath between wars
He gave me a kingdom of discipline,
But I gave it back in crimson-marbled blood
Bold blood
My blood
History will know me by the name “unjust”
I wish I could have told young Commodus:
Marble remembers everyone the same—
Cold,
Chiseled,
Faceless.
