Many Penultimates

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Many Penultimates

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #198

I have swelled from the turbulent depths,
A ripple that in the nameless did begin
Gathering for strength kindred ripples,
Now a wave to cross the shore’s margin.

From the mists of earth swirling slow
Through the air of meditating trees
From a single leaf’s sighing did I grow,
A soul dew dangling on time’s precipice.

In my form’s casement is incubated
A stifling metamorphosis cumbersome,
My soul is now by light-wings equipped
Awaiting its release to soar back home.

Many penultimates have converged in me,
A final sprinkling of Thy will shall set me free!