A Call

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A Call

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #26

Of what purport these limbs and mind
That flail in action like a creature blind,
Only to prod of pain and hunger moves
Forever yoked to grooves of senses.

Cares and aims remain in an arena,
A boisterous ego audience’s drama,
But when dusk draweth closing screen
Night doth swallow all that is seen.

Wither the hue and line on a canvas
That must rest rolled in memory’s stores,
All the expense of azure and gold
Must remain unseen in a dungeon cold?

O happy careless star in a vain constellation round,
Know, peace shuns a mind that dareth to comprehend.