Pilgrim

By LaBruyere in lights on

Despite my lying prone beneath the weight Of haste-invented reasons not to try Still, the burning lights will not abate. No fear within or out assails my eye To cripple what is left of my ascent Or stand between the voids, the goal, and I. The waves may batter shores…

NaPo XXVII. Philosophe

By LaBruyere in dust on

The love of wisdom is no love per se. It acts like dusty, passionless old tomes And gives no warmth of moonlit nights to they Who bade fair wisdom call their hearts her home. For rather, philosophe, you dwell on ink And put to death vitality and comb The nits…