Am Unsatiated

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Am Unsatiated

Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #88

What miserly portion hast Thou made as mine
From Thy capacities birthing stars in a noon-reverie,
Casting in a piddly body my soul Thine own 
Like some diamond into mire flung contemptuously.

What modest heart hast Thou planted herein
That throbs so feebly to Thy sweet summoning melody,
Like some timid animal fearing anguish and pain
While ardours world-exceeding lie buried deeply.

What lame mind hast Thou raised within
That stutters through coarse grammar poorly,
As simian-man strings his speech new-done
Tainting vowel and consonant confusedly.

Oh I am unsatiated, make me all forms habiting every world
Till I alone remain for Thy million eyes to behold!