The Pilgrim’s Lantern

I walk beneath the blueprint of becoming,

a silent scaffolding of thought and grace.

Each movement feels predestined, yet unfinished,

a draft revised by mercy, by hand.

The atmospheric fragrance traces unbuilt versions of me,

ghosts of intention crowding the frame.

And in my grasp, a single lantern swings

its light quaking,

reason before revelation.

Lies emerge from my pores,

my doubts, the necessary erasures.

The lantern sways, resisting the dark,

its flame a scholar’s question, never still.

I am pilgrim, student, design

walking through the potters mind,

searching for the form I might yet take

when all the scaffolds fall away,

and only light—His light—remains.