Image of Long Story Short Award - Fall 2020
Image of Poetry
O Romulus my brother dear,
I fought by thee for time unknown,
I breathe the air of life no more;
And Rome alone is yours.

My blood is on thy hands alone;
Let this,
Thy act,
Aveng thee yet.

How does it feel,
To know you’ve won?

To be the king,
As father’s son?

This land is yours, the people, too.
Their love burns bright.
Their brawns and might
Always be for you.

Did you know that this would come?
Did you know that it would be?
How long were you conniving this;
To kill me so, and take the rest?

We’re brothers still, from the same fold,
A litter of two misfits killed.
A wolf saved us, (That’s what we’ve told,)
And brought us to Faustilus bold.

Raised us, they did,
The sons of Mars.
But who could guess,
Our mother’s sons,
Would be the heirs,
Of so much more?

O Romulus, you’ve done so well.
Numitor would be so proud.
You beat the land with iron fists,
Your power yet will not desist.
Deference to your final fate,
I give until you can’t subsist.

Your legacy will never die,
Your fratricide will always fly,
Above the corpse you left behind,
Yours, brother’s, too, below will lie.

Forever, did you think it’d last?
Forever, till all time had passed?
No; all things must pass,
While man doth sleep, no things can last.

Ironic how it’s all ended.
Despite up there, creating kings;
You came down here, to be the twin,
And everything’s the same as if,
I killed you, and Rome was mine.