Thy Writ
Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #284
Published on March 2, 2022
Thy Writ
Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #284
A harsh desert air is this sapped bare,
Wrenching every stray drop of hope
From each oasis of my dream-reservoir,
A once proud crest now doth stoop.
A dubious penitentiary is this Thy earth,
A vast prison or a beguiling green quarry,
The cry that attends unforeseen birth
Our early premonition or a natal prophecy
That sets the theme of fates to come,
A stormy twilight without a pause
Raging through the brief lease of time
And with a silent night for a close.
Is this Thy scheme for the chosen,
Thy writ for us on our souls engraven?