Vows of Fealty

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Vows of Fealty

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #75

I hear thee O soul, though wordless thy silence,
Like a precious little flower caught in ambush
By unsheathed thorns of body and senses,
Every stir stroking on thee a scarring brush.

Nay, not mine the hand that cast me here,
Of all fertile soils of earth this hostile patch.
Only a poignant moist tear for our nurture,
A company of thorns our sole princely catch.

In an unloved corner of a wide azure we dwell,
Thy marvel but a curiosity none can see.
Yet I mark thy laments orbiting in a cycle,
A lone teary pilgrim perambulating in body.

Yet, in all thy tribulations take modest comfort,
For in thy anonymous toil grows His purpose
Who hath endured for thee the abyss’s pit,
And He alone can cherish thee O unloved rose.

Come then, O comrade immortal, in one voice
We must frame our appeal to that faraway Sun,
“We, O Sire, are soul and body and senses,
Wed Thee us by alchemic-rite of transformation.

Choose for us an auspicious hour in Time,
Arraign the gods in a luminous assembly,
In the sonorous din of a profound hymn
Shall pledge again vows of fealty to Thee.

Thine are we, this ragged cohort of no ability,
To end in Thy belongings our sole purpose and affinity.”