Commodus

What drives a man,
To murder his own father?
It is the boy that kills,
The boy that weeps,
For the love he did not receive.

A cold stare at the masses,
The myriads of people,
They favour all above he,
He is isolated. Alone.

His body left torn,
No proper burial,
His sister doesn't want him,
His "brother" despises him.

Father. Caesar. Friend. He loves his general,
Above his own flesh and blood,
He was a monster created,
His master despaired at his creation.

At night he cried,
For the mother he needed,
The hug from his father,
The understanding from his sister,
The loyalty of his people,
He was alone. Alone.
And so he wept.