Wait Not
Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #65
Published on July 13, 2021
Wait Not
Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #65
How many false facets like crosses borne,
The many nails of errors riddling my body,
How many falsehoods crowning brow darkly
Marking my being all ignorance’s champion.
A crowd of incapacity and sloth jeer in ears,
Their rude taunts falling like a lashing chant,
My virtue’s witnesses turn hostile and silent,
On a lone infamy’s hill is now my residence.
At nights a rain of talons descend and gore
The wounds scarcely healed, old scars make
Way for a new cruelty’s red-hot stake,
These and more in silence I must endure.
What measuring glass extends Thy coming’s hour,
Wait not for the destined moment to come near.