Sonnet II

 
When inking calligraphic verse is fraught
And journals are bedded upon the desk,
When music would be disruptive to thought
And my ears yearn for quietude instead,  
When light would cut so presumptuously
The mighty resolve of constrictor knot,
And my eyes curl deep’n in a quilted cave
Of a meticulously hand sewn vault,  
When naught is felt but the deepest repose
And willing surrender to its presence,
When aught receive Love so freely bestowed
By instinctual trust and acceptance,  
    Then I believe with divine forbearance  
    I'm where I belong this Holy instance.
~