Quantum of Mercy

Sonnet — Daily Poetry to The Master of Works #35

A ruined temple.

What scale measures the quantum of mercy
That in hourly alms is granted unto me?
Whose the hand that counts every grain
That seeds my soil yielding unfailing pain?

Whose the brow curved by a too cold light
That crowds with woe my daily sight?
Whose the lips that sneer and smile,
Laughing at my plight and relentless ill?

Who bleeds my dusks of all the vermillion
Leaving them pale with no passion?
Who now scours the last straggling breath
And meets me in silence sombre as death?

Wouldst Thou know O Sire the author who conceives
All my parts to match the grim grecian tragedies?!