PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

They stand before you, these three sky-scholars,

smugly confident in their knowledge of the stars,

knowledge in which you cannot, nor ever will, share.

They speak with a refinement that has always

eluded you; they speak with credible authority,

and not the shrill imperative tones you favor.

One of them reminds you very much of

Kaisarion, that beautiful boy who loved other boys;

son of Julius Caesar and Cleopatra, whom your

former superior, Mark Antony, had proclaimed

Ptolemy XV Caesar and King of Kings.

But Octavian ordered his . . . permanent removal

from his ancestors' throne.  And that other, the

one with the almost military bearing, could

pass for Cornelius Gallus, who suicided years ago.  The

third one, who seems almost too frail and sickly to

travel, does not remind you of anyone, and therefore

must not be anyone of any import.  You feel

their contempt for you---descendent of camel drivers, an

Edomite, really, installed by Romans on the ancient

throne of Judea.  How these visitors sneer at that;

how the people you govern sneer at that.

These three have studied a certain star:  they know

every detail of its rising and setting, although

you disagree with the significance they ascribe to it.  But

you will never be senior to them in their knowledge, in the

preparations they have made, and the information

they have acquired, night after night, devoutly laborious in

their disciplined observations,  Your knowledge will never be

superior to theirs.  But your ability to slay on a large scale is.

Starward