Thy Touch

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Thy Touch

Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #319

Wilt Thou recognise me, this visage all marred
By wrinkling cares and sleep scarring dreams?
My light has fallen like leaves in winter cold,
I stand like a tree shorn that its soul-bark bares.

The masks I have assumed leave their imprint,
The human stain resists contemplation’s wash,
The old lines and roles ingrained like a habit,
Where gone the person with piety dew-fresh?

From a dancing bard to a brooding hermit
Is the extent of this change incalculable,
I have wandered to extents of mortal limit 
Essaying Thy theme of transformation integral.

O Thou who knowest provenance of every scar,
Heal with Thy touch my each deforming mar.