Censure

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Censure

Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #85

A drowsy slow sun clambers the horizon
And from disarrayed sky casts eye sullenly,
From start of waking hour it presses down
Mind and heart to linger in stupor and incapacity.

Once at will the muses answered in unison
Yet now their favoured sap bright and lively
Course no more through mind and pen,
Now I sup an impostor imagination reluctantly.

What recourse must a bard take then
To offer the gods their share of daily piety,
Must he stoop to themes from mart and tavern
And censure his heart pining for luminous beauty?

No matter the many rebellions within and without sowed,
I shall bring Thee owed worship in thought and word.