I dug your path before you woke,
tumbling with dust off your spine,
and you rose blank from the underground,
forgetting with the sun
reasons for burying in the first place,
the existential burning
which reasons awake.

I held you up before the storm
and there your lesson went unlearned,
shaking with hailstones and bitter words...
what didn't **** you,
provided by remains,
would be not basis for any gain.

I lit your torch before you fell,
hands cupped against the rain,
but you didn't go like burning books...
more so the man who tripped with stones
and licked with flames
his ignorance away.