A Sonnet of Supplication

Our combined parts in pell-mell
A dissonant story does tell. 
A wayward motion without purpose
Only a wretched story does compose.

By thought persistent we do wake
A semblance of order by labour make. 
By mind on mind we churn out a will
An august tapas does make our mind still.

An unseen fire is then lit within
By occult method an urge does begin.
A tendril fire amidst an obscuring enormity
Like a seed of some distant eternity.

Lead O Priest-Fire, O Flame-Chant of wonder
Banish these mists for our journey yonder!