Sunday Sonnet!

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As yonder years expectant maid with child,
Accompanied by older pledged betrothed,
Advanced on weary course with manner mild,
Today, believers, in their faith beclothed,
In advent seek their persons to prepare,
To celebrate the nascence of their lord;
A time for still reflection and of prayer,
That blessings on all beings might be poured;
Be mindful of the chasmic, sad divides
In station, stature, heritage and wealth,
The need for saintly love in all resides,
The gift of the Divine is wholesome health;
May advent hope pervade each living soul,
That brokenness in all may be made whole.

©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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Sunday Sonnet!

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I cannot tell the depth of debt I owe
To hallowed architect of life, contrived,
With ne’er a mite of hope to disavow,
That all these years, by Grace, I have survived;
Not always prudent in elected path,
In innocence as much as ignorance,
Bequeathing painful scars in aftermath,
Benificence prevailed in my defence.
Grim, darker days by demons were beset,
Yet, held by loyal love of one who cared,
The halls of hope to want were never let,
Nor falls to taunts of shame were ever bared.
A grateful heart to God of Grace I raise,
With sacramental songs replete with praise.

©Meanderings 2018

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Sunday Sonnet!

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Benedictions in my life abound,
Bestowed, unearned, by gen’rous Grace Divine,
Yet, fear-filled thoughts my trust in Him confound,
Preventing would and would-not to align;
As though in constant conflict they engage,
Stalwarts of Doubt and Faith heave to and fro;
Instead of seeking suffering to assuage,
They seem to thrive on propagating woe;
Can Hope, so deeply rooted in the heart,
Restore semblance of sanity in mind,
Lest vestiges of trust from me depart,
Phantoms of emptiness be left behind?
Recount your benedictions giving thanks,
As curative, it as the premier ranks.

©Meanderings 2018

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Sunday Sonnet!

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In desolation of the darkest night,
Attended by the emptiness of hope,
When solace harbingers have taken flight,
How are forsaken creatures meant to cope?
I passed a homeless lady on my walk,
Along the seaside promenade she sat,
Forlorn, on bench, inclined with none to talk,
Must shelter be her fated habitat?
Surrounded by her meager earthly wares,
Exposed to whims of Nature’s weather gods,
Will someone ever deign to tend her cares,
Perchance, among her fellow human bods?
What hankers in her soul no one can tell,
My heart bleeds prayers her future to be well!

©Meanderings 2018

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