I slam the door in
Epicurus' face, and I retire
to sheetrock cells and
Stoic nights to compose
and think and muse and dream.
Out with the shallow!
In with the deep!
Fan the flames,
Gorge the pig
on Milton, Virgil, Lewis and
a dash of Salvatore
Swollen on understanding,
Ripened with knowledge,
Bursting with the words to
shepherd huddled masses,
I throw wide the door with
level chin and level shoulders.
To right the wrongs
To light up the darkness
To overturn tables in the temple
but...
I’ve got a pile of books to read and
it’s pretty cold out there… so…
Ah well, Epicurus, you
can come on in, I guess.
Author notes
We've been reading a lot of Horace in my Latin class, and he's rubbing off on me.
Adding your comment: