Sworn

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Sworn

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #47

The clamorous din of the world dies,
Its old roar now worn to a whisper
That breathless ends in mute silence,
In memory remains a remembered quiver.

The world’s embellishments now past coin,
A stamped face of worthless promise,
Its weighed number a fool’s bargain,
All its commerce to a zero sums.

Now my soul but favours Thy mint,
Scattered glimmering from Thy treasury
Lures my being with Truth’s hint
And subsumes my heart almost wholly.

Veil not Thyself from any part of me,
To Thee is sworn soul, life and body.