Decreed

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Decreed

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #63

It’s settled then, the meagre estate of self
Is now submitted to Thine offices,
Its assignation to joy or grief
Is now within Thy prerogatives.

Am I then absolved from driving motive,
The scouring for damp joys and scarring pain?
Will the dormant will yet lurk furtive
Abstaining from decisive action?

Wilt Thou survey Thine new estate,
Commiserate on the pervasive dross,
Make new plans for crumbling fate
And build for Thyself a dwelling place?

It’s decreed, am now irrevocably Thine,
Sans myself Thou must make no plan.