‘The Charges of Patroclus’

by Cora MacGregor

He who once, child-like, wept, seeing needless

Death, now, clad in bronze, attacks a fourth time.

Ablaze with another’s glory, heedless,

Like something inhuman, like something divine.

 

In costume, playing once the hero, but already

The god. And dormant ambition is freed:

Instinctive, his spear in his hand steady,

As he splinters troops, fells men like trees.

 

Mindless and manless, a killing machine;

Fearful and fearless, from outside he’s seen.

Borne by an impulse greater than himself.

The impulse to be greater than himself.  

The Poor Print

The Oriel College Newspaper. Run by students, with contributions from the JCR, MCR, and SCR & Staff. Current Executive Editors: Tom Davy, Joanna Engle and Chris Hill

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