Thine Am I

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Thine Am I

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #87

What gaudy hand hath been here
Like a juvenile vandal venturing new world
To sprinkle profane graffiti of fear,
Painting a vision of despair and hope’s end.

What uncouth will from base abyss
Hast Thou in good grace admitted,
Or what black heart vilely presumptuous 
Mimics Thy gesture in masquerade?

Thy generosity hath grown to a fault,
The hospitality of Thy patience limitless 
To house even the malevolent guest,
Who Thy blessed norm daily transgress.

A dirge they have made dawn’s anthem,
A lament passing for common tune,
Upon each lip is a vile psalm of alarm
Recited faithfully like a cherished boon.

But I, yet to be considerate like Thee,
Shall brook no contract with these,
A whip I shall braid from rainbow on sky
And lash the world with Thy colours.

My will shall be a hammer pounding 
To the pulsing rhythm of Thy intent,
My thought a brutal chisel unyielding
To burrow into all minds without relent.

Thy love’s tyranny I shall wield ruthlessly,
A contagion of happy tears spread 
And leave a scarring kiss upon every
Heart lingering forlorn and abandoned.

Thine am I, hence all Thine by right mine,
This straggling world I shall make yield,
All of them and me make utter submission 
In an union and harmony sublime and grand.

Only give me lip and tongue for high song
That shall by Thy feet eternally wing.