Hypatia Poem by Steve Trimmer

My love lay dead, but gone not She
Corse rent asunder
On death’s bed Her soft berried-lips grin
In defiance of such painful throes
Lifeless, She lay, from the vile plunder of Alexandria’s opprobrious throng

Dotards so insipid, with the evensong of Cyril in ringing ears
Songs of zealot demagogues lead the cackling of clergymen
Evincing such malice; even haruspices hide for shame
Forsooth, of fowl worth this mob of unheeding mindlessness
Their rancourous stench still lingers on the air

My love, my Hypatia (I, unable to spare Her from their hearts of hate)
In this year A.D 415, month of March, my welling eyes tear;
Sad Orestes, so far from Perfect

Fine philosopher was She, of divine eloquence, with angel-kind smile
Teacher and sage-queen from the ages of yore
Unfettered by Her wit, emancipation is Her own

In Her bower we loved, it seems now a passing dream
Like the drying of dew on summer’s morn (ephemeral it seems)
Or the passing of rain on the lea (besprent in beauty)

So commodious, we so of learning, in each wise conjuring;
Of sorcereye secrets, a cauldron replete by edified votives
For this was She burned, piecemeal; a pellucid nightmare

Frenetic fools (thwart them I could not)
Fools of this new faith, who make folly claim to Christ’s line
Soteriology’s own; those who so cast such credulous dispersions
Against Her towering grimoire of deft comprehensions as so
Of good and philanthropic instruction

Sonneteers sough as winter’s ocean wind in dree at such loss
Slaughtered was She, on the promenade where the Christos once did trod
Tutored in comparable dissertations and aphorisms of which he once uttered
Coptic, Hamitic or contrariwise; learned in the theology and tongues of many
He who met with likened fate, smote down by this same mediocrity

Hypatia…………Hypatia of such beautiful grace
By fruitions of portents
My love, I will wait for……………….. and shalt soon behold