Ailment New

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Ailment New

Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #318

A little less brighter shines the sun on azure
Shorn of the halo-crown of rayed-brilliance,
A little more dull seems the muse-beaker
Moon emptied of its intoxicating poetries.

Infrequent grown the glitter-murmur of stars
Their celestial chorus is drained of harmony,
Quelled seems the passion of the seas
And the shores await their beloved poignantly.

A drought is upon lips of every dreaming bard,
Parched tongues suffocate the gasping heart,
Wayward wander the roads of the oath-bound
For the earth to uphold honour is reluctant.

What ailment new has possessed the world
Or is it just I who am bereft of Thee my Lord?!