Grudge Me Not

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Grudge Me Not

Poem — An Invocation To The Master #382

Oh dull, dull are these times like the sodden earth
Washed by the raining routine of a common sky,
Chained to the recurring years of mortal birth,
To merely wake and sleep and labour constantly.

Where are Thy soothsayers blind and brimming 
With mystic tongues that spell the future,
Why heard not the voice strange and shining
With occult symbols of sense we can’t capture?

Where are Thy oracles communing with entrails,
Drunk with dreaming fumes and scheming
Besides a cauldron bubbling with the fates
And ever with the puppet wills of men toying?

Where are Thy sages trailing with their acolytes,
Like a meteor flame its stardust bringing,
Where the lightnings from their churned musings
Hauled in the net of their speech inspiring?

Oh sentence me not to this dungeon forever,
Lash me not with these dullard hours,
I am benumbed by this earthly mortal fever
And thirst for Thy deathless clarities.

Oh grudge me not the eternal verities,
I’ll sup but a little of Thy endless infinities.