pray master, touch me with the
mighty stroke that is thy genius
and build ye up some wondrous bridge
to span the moat between us

how move you so to fearful awe
these hearts by foreign sun?
to tear. to smile. thou yet beguile
new souls do merge as one

thy tragedies are miracles
are wonders pure and haunting
send tender hearts to sorrowing
lend curings to the wanting

what gentle muse prevail’d upon thine eye
and lent such vision
as not to age on histry’s page
that prince and pauper listen?

shouldst thou return but from thy grave
what makest thee of times as this
thy world is not yet somehow is
thou know it not yet do

great mystick powers reigne aloft
o’er angels and the damned
yet torture souls, aye haunt them
still dark forces do command!

do war amid grey cosmic tides
of realmes and times and spaces
as mortal man is yet to learn
the nature of its faces

these fates, as thee
know naught of death
and wilt thou not
be perish’d?

©PJ Yukon January 25 1984