To Thee

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To Thee

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #31

The store of my impulses are emptied clean,
All the petty fires are long extinguished,
Only remains in front a stirless screen
That veils the deeds yet to be accomplished.

The bud of inspiration remains ever so closed,
I await His hands the petals to unclose
Revealing heart of His purpose unto me made,
But now I must content with aspiration gaze.

Mind drawn deeds are often destined to doom,
In silence may be wrought a seer’s heart,
A hero’s fury beyond battle finds no room,
All acts endure only by the divine’s fiat.

Mould me yet out of the human groove,
May this soul instance of Thee worthy prove.