Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #360
My reed is hollowed, worn out by the passing hours,
The ego’s banner of agency stands tattered,
Who or what in me doth the lingering deeds cause
Is not evident yet or perhaps to be hid condemned.
Like a leaf severed from the world tree I drift
Through this whirl of time and space helpless,
My end be soil prone or heaven august I know not,
Yet I venture these roads of unknown purpose.
What titan or demon has framed my quandary
Like the first cell of life with mind burgeoning,
To feel all the coruscation of thought covertly
And yet be mute the apparatus of sense lacking.
O Thou, Conductor of the heavens and earth below,
Make us not an anomaly that is unravelling slow.