Sunday Sonnet!

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As pass the years of doing this and that,
Oft driven by obsessive need to please
Unruly passions, ending in regret,
Mere mortals, so the lord of life decrees,
Need not be caught up in the rodent race,
Learn lesson that appears in elder age,
To hasten slowly at a measured pace,
Receding strength of talents to engage;
Too often, much too late, we soldier on,
Ignoring counsel of the inner voice,
Until affliction’s dissonance is born,
Rendering our pride with little or no choice.
Humility our shortcomings to see,
Enables graceful future well to be.

©Meanderings 2018

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Sunday Sonnet!

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Their innocence, a gemstone of delight,
Irradiating sparkle on one’s face,
Disarming, putting woebegone to flight,
A veritable avenue of grace;
Untinted eyes perceive the extant world,
Evoking response in untainted mind,
As though it were ensign of truth unfurled,
With no intent in heart to be unkind;
Alas, the mores of culture infiltrate
Virginal thought and speech of little ones,
Instinctual honesty to dislocate,
Preventing them from being truthful scions.
Embedded in the deeper consciousness,
Resides the need to speak the truth, no less.

©Meanderings 2018

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Sunday Sonnet!

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Soft, gentle silence of the evening breeze,
Enhanced by intermittent blackbird’s call,
Induces sense of soporific ease,
Without the need for sunset ethanol;
Fraught day’s demands have left spirit well spent,
Surviving cutting edge of tempers frayed,
Despite appeals that reason should relent,
Lest untoward demeanour be displayed;
Rail passage cancellations morn and eve,
Arrivals late for work or not at all,
Rewarded everyone with much to grieve,
Not least with foul behaviour that appal;
Sweet stillness of relaxing garden air,
Restores one’s sanity in leisure chair.

©Meanderings 2018

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Sunday Sonnet!

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Dark, dark the night when demons of despair
Besiege fast haemorrhaging halls of hope,
An innate tragic lack to be aware
Of dangers on addiction’s slippery slope,
Exacerbated plight of ignorance,
As victim struggled vainly ‘gainst the slide,
Bemoaning wretched loss of innocence,
Denuded of a personal sense of pride;
Praise be, by Grace, the worse was not to be,
For mustard seeds of faith kept hope alive,
The death of Night gave way, daylight to see,
And steely resolution hailed, ‘Survive’!
A task is ne’er complete until it’s done,
A battle never lost until it’s won.

©Meanderings 2018

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