The Privilege

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The Privilege

Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #55

Courtesy Lexica.art

A crucible of stories is this globe,
Brewed with lives simmered by a sun,
Churned by hands of eve and morn
Minds that strive and hearts that throb.

Who cast the mould of lives here below
Deigning the cycle of life and death,
Who drove in heart feeling and breath
Burdening limb and mind to amble slow?

Who seeks supplication of praying lips
To fill the hollow silence of bright heaven,
Who keeps account of the deeds of men
To fill the boredom of lone omniscience?

For Thy pleasure we ever come and pass,
And pay for the privilege in sweat and tears.