Thy Lustre

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Thy Lustre

Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #290

A purple screen of dusk now descends
Marking the close of a futile day,
A little lamp is lit and its flame lends
A meagre light to my musing’s way.

The bruises remind of what had passed,
The malicious event and fell circumstance;
To a storm I seem to be anchored,
One without end, only more beginnings.

O Gracious Heart, is there not to be found
One sliver of utility worth redeeming
In this produce of clay so earth bound?
Oh I flail upon moment-seas sans meaning!

Lend O King one conferring gesture,
Raising the fallen adds to Thy lustre.[1]

[1]Rescuing the adrift adds to Thy lustre.