In the quiet of the night

In the quiet of the night,

under the light of a lamp ,

 devouring did he sit, the odes of bards to mirth and blue,

the ghastly hush of the unearthly hour

or, thou specter that he deemed  ensnaring him,

did he not know the rationale behind the spurting ardor,

but the fire, he did fathom was to be kindled and not to be intered.

Hence he doth which many dread to,

took the first stride in a journey of a zillion miles,

but alas, he writhes to forge ahead,

he knows not the path ahead,

but still did he persevere for the fire in him shown like a million suns trussed in concert.

He moves onward undaunted ,

but before long does he pause, over again,

only to find that the path ahead was not a bed of roses but a one of bristly bushes,

be that as it may, as nothing could impede his travel,

 for the ardor in him was no less profound,

above all the fire in him was to be kindled and not to be intered,

and he doth which many dread to,

thenceforth the bedazzling light that emanated from his shade,

slowly petered out as he marched on and on and on……………