A Quarrel

Not with thee O Earth is my quarrel
Nor even with the wry-handed fate,
My debate is with my soul immortal
Who hath chosen this dull dull plot.

Found thou O soul no regions blest
Where my Master doth strolling linger?
Of all the spaces of the Infinite
Thou choosest this earthly corner?

What lazy argument doth thou proffer
For this thy choice hastily made,
What business thine to aimless loiter
Away from heaven into dumb mud?

Sufficed not the blessed routine
To serve feet of that sublime Marvel?
What impious will of djinn or goblin
Persuades thee O luminous fool?

What excursions needest thy hunger
Roaming like a mindless vagrant?
What whims doth thou constantly pander,
Why venture into the deplorable night?

Thy freedoms I must forthwith annul,
No more for thee this game,
Head now to the edge of His portal
And await there until He bids thy name.

O soul, from His radius never to stray
For thy sake I must fervently pray.

Poem