Thy Mule

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Thy Mule

Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #42

Courtesy Lexica.art

I have borne the dull and the unease
That infest the twilight of a sleeping earth,
I crawl through the hours by maimed limbs,
No fire remains that attended my birth.

I have borne the night and ghastly moon
That loom upon the spaces of sleep,
A wordless horror attends me there even
And ploughs my heart an ill omen to keep.

I have borne many eyes in heart and limb
Each to tearless weep for every lashing woe;
Shunning respite my heart ever does throb
Beating a plea for Thee to glean and know.

I am Thy humble mule in this infernal abyss,
Yield me not to mercy of lesser gods.