The Death of Socrates after Sylvia Plath – Shirley Wright
If I stand very still they will think I am cow-parsley
or giant hogweed, my umbels of lacey white
like fine muslin ladies choose to veil their scorn.
Some Greeks find it hard to tell the difference between
good faith and the pretty flowers of hypocrisy.
But come the hour, I shall release him from those
who’d sacrifice the thinker for his thoughts.
He asked too many questions, smiled too much
at beautiful young men, and god forbid the demos
should exercise its mandate, have opinions of its own.
First I’ll bring paralysis, then vertigo, then drowsy numbness
certain fools might see as hopelessly romantic
before the lungs clench, heart muscles seize. Some say
this gadfly wanted death, his final sting to the body politic
which even now misreads the tragedy. I shall bend, fling
soft branches over him, lead his old soul quietly away.
Shirley Wright