The Tribulations of Our Story

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The Tribulations of Our Story

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #24

And That to itself thoughtless thought,
“Am I sole and alone without a doubt,
What means take I to resolve this quandary
What bounds may remain to mine infinity?
All is I where my gaze doth fall,
None other I see to answer my call.
Oh what is it become and be
To plumb my self by a sight that can see,
What might musing voices tell
Of deep hearted thought’s spell.
Oh for a body to embrace and clasp,
To feel the pathos of a final grasp.
Will infinity divided yet be infinite,
All my brood remain without limit?
Oh these I must by living tell
Through heavens bright and dire hell.
Can joy contort into piercing pain,
By what catalyst can intensity gain?
A wound pierced by an angry lance
Diminishes in sting by a child’s cries.
Peaks of desire diminish in stature 
By the lone spark of aspiration fire.
I who cannot be summed to a whole 
Must stoop to be many, even the ignoble.
As from bursting star a flaming dust
All these become I must.”
So arose from that lone query
All the tribulations of our story.