Journey

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Journey

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #178

My means were meagre and mind so poor,
The heart vainly besotted, nerves so frail,
A commonplace will with no strain austere,
Summed my being to a sumptuous nil.

To every scale I marked the bottom,
Swiftness and strength and ingenuity 
Were all strange, too far subtle stratagem,
And yet began I this inscrutable journey.

By mind I improvised, harnessed the breath,
In each moment plotted my advance,
The heart’s tears I gathered for the path
And nursed my soul for all this distance.

Now my horizon’s pale blue flags Thy peripheries
And my heart sings entering Thy proximities.