Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #37
Oh I have perused all Thy alphabets
And all the manner of their wielding,
Lettered in stone and wind-taunted trees,
In bodies broken and in fates whirling.
Oh I have gleaned all Thy words
And their faces vacillating, innumerable,
Planting on utterer a black poison kiss,
Marking our heads with the seal fatal.
Oh I have gleaned all Thy verses
Bringing dire whispers to singe the heart,
Thy meanings dance with our blindness
While slaying our last dream in this night.
Yet to Thee, O my Lord and King and Emperor,
I light this prayer in the confines of a fugitive hour.
Sonnet — Daily Poetry to The Master of Works #35
What scale measures the quantum of mercy
That in hourly alms is granted unto me?
Whose the hand that counts every grain
That seeds my soil yielding unfailing pain?
Whose the brow curved by a too cold light
That crowds with woe my daily sight?
Whose the lips that sneer and smile,
Laughing at my plight and relentless ill?
Who bleeds my dusks of all the vermillion
Leaving them pale with no passion?
Who now scours the last straggling breath
And meets me in silence sombre as death?
Wouldst Thou know O Sire the author who conceives
All my parts to match the grim grecian tragedies?!
Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #34
Halt, who comes in moments smile bearing,
A gaudy scent daubed for some low allure,
Masking betrayals with trinket of pleasure,
Away villain, bearer of duplicity conniving.
Who dispatched thee on this enterprise,
This devious game to pierce the fallen?
Dost thou box our each pitiable groan
And replay it for pleasure of…
Sonnet — Daily Poetry to The Master of Works #33
A little remains of the little there was,
Of the prevailing ruin the useable sliver
Is now demolished for Thy wasting whims
And yet I must to old mores adhere?
Like a wayward wave engulfs the shore
Turning our lives its…
Sonnet — Poetry for The Master of Works #32
What perennial fruit is in ephemeral time
That in bitterness ever ripe always is,
How richly endowed by this sordid clime
That it the seedly cycle easily forfeits!
Who or what is this rising so full-born
Like a power typal from ancient…
Poem — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #31
What is mine from here to give,
For all is Thine, the inanimate and alive,
And the bright coin and high nobility
Only by Thy name any shine carry,
All deeds, the high and the base
Come unto being only by Thy force,
So too…
Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #30
What use to Thee am I as a lifeless ghost
Shorn of vitals, stripped of senses five,
Of conscious mind and thought bereft,
Unable to serve Thee tangibly and alive?
What use to rue like a Hamletian ghost
Of immoral couches…
