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…