Thy Conquest
Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #276
Published on February 22, 2022
Thy Conquest
Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #276
My walls all slowly crumble, my edifying bricks
Blown like mere sand grains by Thy breath,
My moat of ego with uncrossed defences
Now overpassed as if a pointless breadth.
The watchtowers of mind watch helpless
The ransack underway where all is scuttled,
The frescoes defaced, my memory’s motifs,
And heart’s chamber left sullied and ruined.
On a lone pedestal of being am seated
Awaiting fall of the last remaining door,
A surge of trance or a descent ordained
And the time-born shall remain no more.
Come then O Conqueror for Thy conquest,
Who shall tell how a soul Thou canst wrest?