Apollo Weeps

A. Christine Myers
2 min readNov 7, 2019
Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

Phaeton, son of bright Apollo,
Why did you ask?
Too young to understand,
To old to be refused
When your eager faith
And friends’ mockery together
Wove themselves into
Your shroud.

How grand the steeds,
Young son of great Apollo,
How their brilliant eyes
And winged bright hooves
Spoke through the reins
When first you took them up
In hands too ignorant and weak.

And thus the radiance,
The power of bright Apollo
Lay in those hands
A few hours, half a day,
The glory of the dawn and daylight,
The brief envy of those friends
Who have destroyed you
With the glory of Apollo.

But for those hours
The sun’s wind blew through your hair,
You felt the heavens rumble
Underneath your feet;
The dawning of the day
Rose at your back to crown you
With its radiance
And all the earth rejoiced.

Then mortal fear arose;
Headstrong into the sky
The horses took the bits,
The wayward wind beat
Underneath their hooves,
Fierce joy of motion
Shaking in their manes.

Son of Apollo, you,
But mortal as old earth,
No god to seize the reins,
Control the wild course,
Make cease the whipping winds,
The tumbling mountains
Of blue heaven — in your terror
Now a pathless void.

The fields burnt
And the trees,
The very clouds aflame
With fire and more fire
And fear, more fear —
Not now of Hades or of…

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