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Dear Scholar

Besieged behind your brass-bound books, dust embanking the bastion that binds valor and love in paper confines— there, my dear, you’ve stationed your trust: pining for swords in words that won’t rust, consuming the art, the grammar of rhymes that flourish in hearts and batter in minds, seeking the knowledge of ages ...

St. Peter

There came an eerie numbness to his feet, As gravity tried its strength against the beat Of blood within his aged, impetuous breast. Against the setting sun, his upturned beard And hair, fanned out absurdly like a crest, Were shorn by shimmer, and the soldiers jeered. The pillar found its deep predestined slot, Plunged down a ...