It Sates Not
Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #91
Published on August 8, 2021
It Sates Not
Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #91
Oh it sates not, Thy name etched on heart,
Making Thee sole occupant supernal
Of my body that grows into Thy temple,
Yet my being cries for Thee athirst.
Sift my breath into a motioned prayer
Carrying for Thee unceasing incense,
Mould my thoughts for obeisance
To Thee offered in absolute surrender.
Upon each cell Thou must mark Thy name,
Sparing no adamant bone or soft tissue
Claim them all forever as Thy issue,
I yield Thee me, a captive in Thy home.
Do what Thou wilt with my meagre dust,
To dress fringe of Thy feet is my heaven best.