God-Mood

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God-Mood

A Sonnet

A spell of night draped with gloom,
All hope now forbid without room.
A web of thought and a desired snare,
Lures the soul to savour for a dare.

Day and night were of the same weave,
Suffocate self and no light conceive.
The hero and devotee now banished,
The worker with no urge has vanished.

Every plain and aim to assault,
Poisoned at root by a fatal fault.
Desire the glue that binds us here,
Cause of our ill and fuels all fear.

A God-mood of strength cast these far,
Am flung from a stone-abyss to the star.