Enchantment

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Enchantment

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #41

Mysterious said the tomes, unapproachable to mind,
Yet to me Thou art plain, though of hard approach,
In all Thy dealings an aim is inevitably found
That unfailingly a new soul terrain doth encroach.

To utterance of a mere name by unpalpable sound
Thou appearest in my mind to cherish and grasp,
Oh how vainly many are caught in toiling round
Condemning their quest by the ego’s grip.

Simple art Thou, only a peak alone on spirit height,
To the climbing heart Thou doth ever lend
A foothold of passion and a faith’s torchlight,
Yet to my cry Thou doth Thy high peak bend!

How sublime the enchantment of our story,
Of my moth and Thy sun in mutual revelry.