Simple Prize

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Simple Prize

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #20

Oh Thou wert ever Thine own counsel
All mine fine arguments never held court,
Every petition mine Thou doth dispute,
Where must appeal my affronted soul?

Ever grows my backlog of choicest woes,
And Thou doth ponder on some obscure 
Infinity that hardly for Thee doth care,
Leaving forlorn me in sorrow’s throes.

Like a Sun alone with indifferent planets
My soul bides time with senses and mind
Who wander helpless like the wilfully blind,
Night plagues my days, night by itself thrives.

It matters not none await Thee O splendid Sun,
My heart’s simple prize is Thine alone to be won.