Fortune

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Fortune

Sonnet

What is this I see in muse’s mirror
A gaunt visage fronting a quaint figure?
A pittance for breath and a puny mind,
Try as I might cannot find a person behind.

A propped up frame in some strange game
Played by hands of a player without a name. 
Acts come and pass with feet that lightly tread,
So do thoughts whose provenance can’t be said.

A swift depletion has emptied my being
From porous borders beyond my seeing.
Only I hear some faint words as whispers
That come flickering like light of stars.

A lone fortune remains in penury of my being,
A will unsullied latched to its divine calling.