Member-only story
Apollonius
O solemn sage whence come of age
Apollonius, the sage of kings
Philosopher, man chaste
A boychik riled
Yet no creature fair does thy lay to waste
In contemplation you explain all nature
Even mimetic art, (Girard hath stolen)
Like lightning to postulate
The inner soul — the Magi reviled
Through Nineveh, across Babylon
And soaring heights, the Caucasus
Whence make your push, India bound
The Hindu Kush — On the road
To those who know it — the Brahman sages
Iarchas’s clouds — upon its gates
Tibetan rock, like Athena’s Acropolis
Where only clouds can rise above it
And all the while easy does it
Only water to impart your soul
No wine at the high priest’s altar
No wine be sipped, nor nether bits
Nor breast caressed, nor beast traversed
On wooded glen, sky, nor on the plain
Doth part thy lips — yet fast of quip
Apollonius, your vowed silence slips
Your declarations are a science
Your fallen locks, well, they be blessed
So too as Jesus — who turns water to wine
But on your ventures, you ward off wenches
No wedding wine (not even to quench us)
Inspired like the Brahman’s fire
You cast out vipers
You take no gold — just fruit and nuts
Yet seven rings — the gift of Iarchas
Made seven planets to venerate
As is the Sun
And steal sweet youth to…
