Dear Callicles, “But never on so fair a morn” for him?

By DuncanRhys C. Liancourt

––Was it a fiend to him, or the only friend he could allow?

Did it goad and jibe, or did it beckon?

Was it loud with lessons,

Or was it merely silence over-loud?

 

He became a god: master, for a moment.

 

“Alone!” Arnold’s man-god cried:

“Alone! –

On this charr’d, blackn’d, melancholy waste,

Crown’d by the awful peak, Etna’s great mouth.

Round which the sullen vapour rolls – alone!

…No, thou art come to late, Empedocles!”

 

Earth-fire, gunfire, drug-quiet, water-calm.

 

If I had known of pockets filled with stones?

If I had known Hughes?

“The calm, / Cool face of the river / Asked me for a kiss” bewitches now and then.

 

He chose fire, my friend, or it chose him.

He chose a Tuesday, or it chose him.

 

“Receive me, hide me, quench me, take me home!”

Comments
One Response to “Dear Callicles, “But never on so fair a morn” for him?”
  1. Tamara K says:

    Empathy, Sympathy, Love….

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