Poem — An Invocation to the Master #287
Now but remains to give Thee thanks
For all the unasked gifts of events,
Each a splendid example infernal
Of all the varieties inhabiting hell.
At the grey cusp of wake and sleep
A portal opens to subconscient deep,
Enter one by one somehow revived
All the old fears and regrets that died.
The day is a beauty solemnly dire
Revealing its malice like new attire,
The night has a plainly darker charm,
Adds one more travail to pile of harm!
Eloquent lips whisper of coming woe
Like meeting of kin I didn’t know!
How marvellous this black churn,
Bounty all mine, one I didn’t earn!
Even to despair Thou makest no limit,
O my bounteous Master infinite.