Tag Archives: care

Sunday Sonnet!

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‘A little while and pain shall be no more,’
The still, small voice within me reassured;
Affliction wracked my being to the core,
Though signing not, ‘How much to be endured’;
Attended lovingly by caring hands,
The touch of which imbues internal toil
With hope, perdurable, that ne’er disbands,
So deeply rooted in the soul’s subsoil;
His quivering voice, adorned by faintest smile,
Bestirred the innards of a grateful heart;
Can mortal man survive such searing trial,
Enough to rent most powerful apart?
Belief translates impossible to be
A miracle for family to see!

Β©Meanderings 2017

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Sunday Sonnet

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Leave not to Chance whatever is to be,
Like devastated gambler left forlorn,
Or someone who succumbs to destiny,
To elements exposed like sheep late shorn;
Though Future never fully can be known,
Save by the Might within whose Hand it lies,
The seed of Hope within each soul is sown,
The fruit of which predictions oft defies;
Slide not into the quicksand of despair,
When untowards life’s passage overrun,
Stay anchored to the paragon of care,
Whose constancy can never be undone;
Leave not to Chance whatever is to be,
Let Love provide aegis for you and me!

Β©Meanderings 2017

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Sunday Sonnet!

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How can one know what ails the broken heart,
Or fathom what disturbs the downcast soul?
Wherever does faint comprehension start,
Assistance for the sufferer to enrol?
Appearances so often can belie
A hapless disposition, deep inside;
Unlike the plaster on a fractured thigh,
Alas, from all and sundry none can hide;
Compassion readily responds to seen,
While blinded to unnoticeable pain,
Sequential, thus, to rueful ‘might have been’,
Instead of wholesome healing to regain;
Physician malady can never heal,
Unless I, to him, festering wound reveal!

Β©Meanderings 2017

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Sunday Sonnet!

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Do not the thought of vengeance entertain,
A guest intent your person to consume,
Until few dregs of self-respect remain,
And gracious honour finds an empty room;
Pursuit of recompense, a tortuous route,
Is littered with the shards of broken dreams;
Traversing vile terrain can be a brute,
Assailing hapless with nightmarish screams;
Richer, by far, the more enduring trove
Of virtue, that, within the soul resides,
Like luscious fruit within celestial grove,
Requital in domain of God abides.
Reprisals have the custom to return,
Of hand that wields the fire, the fingers burn.

Β© Meanderings 2017

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Palm Sunday Sonnet!

Knowing all(WP))

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Ebullient crowds bedecked the way with palms,
Their expectations echoed far and wide,
No indication of prospective qualms
As they extolled your meek, majestic ride;
Where were your mother and your closest friends?
Had you not warned them of the risks ahead?
Perchance, they questioned not your selfless ends,
Perceiving your reflecting little dread;
Into each life there comes a day like this,
More often unannounced though not sans fear,
Staring into dark, bottomless abyss,
Who would have thought redemption to be near?
So dark can be the night before the dawn,
Yet, from such emptiness new life is born!

Β©Meanderings 2017

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