Thy Habit

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Thy Habit

Sonnet — An Invocation to the Master #323

Ah, furnace, my dearly lodge for these days,
Who heaps in here the moments as fuel,
Who breathes in here the force of events,
A conflagration blazing and fierily surreal?

Who the master of this clamorous smithy
Where ardent hammers meet body and life,
Who the smith casting each destiny
And kneads our fates with desire and strife?

Oh the winds that pass bring new rumours
Of a new sun nearly golden or even a daemon,
It is he, they said, who with will these fires stirs,
Throwing gods, titan, men into his cauldron.

Ah, then I knew, this method with fires replete
Is Thine by Thy unrelenting perfection’s habit.