Soul Country

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Soul Country

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #165

How much hast Thou hid in the fields of sleep,
Faces once dear and near, faces now unknown,
All to the dreaming eye seem to keep
Their old semblance now unfamiliar grown.

Here they speak what their lips wouldn’t utter
In life that to norms was bound and enamoured,
All fears unspoken and desires that fetter 
Find free utterance when from clay delivered.

Thou too art near in that twilight air,
Thy overseeing hidden eye ever watches
All my trepidations and involuntary shiver
That skim over and through being’s spaces.

In each soul country I will make Thy acquaintance,
And swear again all terms of my acquiescence!