Into Thy Hands

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Into Thy Hands

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #96

How many bodies have I borne 
Riddled with aspiring hearts,
How many lives anguish prone
For my soul to perilously cross?

The gnarled banyan seems kin
With lumbering branches of deeds,
From which root did it all begin 
This tangled behemoth enterprise?

What hostile sky folds over me
To ensnare the cowering soul,
Abetted by a crimson sun fiery 
Parching my hope to a null.

I droop now a flower faded towards dust,
If into Thy waiting hands I fall it were best.