Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #290
A purple screen of dusk now descends
Marking the close of a futile day,
A little lamp is lit and its flame lends
A meagre light to my musing’s way.
The bruises remind of what had passed,
The malicious event and fell circumstance;
To a storm I seem to be anchored,
One without end, only more beginnings.
O Gracious Heart, is there not to be found
One sliver of utility worth redeeming
In this produce of clay so earth bound?
Oh I flail upon moment-seas sans meaning!
Lend O King one conferring gesture,
Raising the fallen adds to Thy lustre.
Rescuing the adrift adds to Thy lustre.