Festival

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Festival

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #190

Off then, vulgar time, keep to thy mortal share,
Thy portion of body and mind and senses,
Thy influence is the limit of corporeal snare
And not to step into the soul’s sacred spaces.

Pitch thy black-tented siege outside the heart’s 
Temple, taint not the precincts all sanctified,
Muse not about the sanctum where resides
This world’s Master with light irradiated.

The mind’s dungeons were leased to thee,
Close now the day when these shall expire,
The layered realms shall then descend free
To plant in me their multitudinous fire!

Oh to that festival thou must surely come
When the timeless One makes me His home!