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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Sunday Sonnet!

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Would that the powers of redeeming Grace
Disarm the haunting denizens of doubt,
Intent on mien of Goodness to displace,
That tentacles of harmful thought may sprout;
Would that the ambience of pax sublime
Subsume disabling spectres of despair,
Then shall be born a healing paradigm,
The fall-out of trust, broken, to repair.
Sweet Patience in soft, reassuring tone,
Apprised, fret not if time should tarry long,
We never stand entirely alone,
Persistence urges always to be strong.
Hope sallies forth its confidence to tell,
That manner of all matters shall be well.

©Meanderings 2018

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Sunday Sonnet!

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I can do naught, but marvel at the mind
That credulously to untruths succumb,
As though the eye of reason is struck blind,
And senses, all, are chronically numb;
Has common sense her age old insight lost,
Confounded by unfounded wiles of fear?
Can ways be found corrosion to accost,
Lest treasured mores forever disappear?
Let not the breath of despair foul the air,
Contaminating hope to spawn discord,
Lest nationhood be rent beyond repair,
Sent hurtling to a future, untoward.
Armed with forefathers’ grit and self-belief,
The people shall defeat presumptuous chief.

© Meanderings 2017.

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Sunday Sonnet!

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He sat, distraught, upon the broken bench,
A dark cloud, fast approaching from the east,
Behind his back a wreck dispensed its stench,
While at his feet lie shattered dreams, deceased.
But yesterday, he saw a fresh new dawn,
Yet flames of cruel misfortune intervened
To leave today and future naked, shorn,
A mass of diverse human lives demeaned.
Alas! Within the quagmire of distress,
Compassion sounds the clarion call of hope,
Largesse, response of human kindliness,
Providing all necessities to cope.
Out of the ashes of despairing pain,
Phoenix of Will to Live will rise again!

©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!

©Meanderings 2017

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