Archer

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Archer

Sonnet

A Portrait of a young Boy dressed as a Hunter by Nicolaes Maes

How does it work, this will of Thine,
Unerring, absolute, without mar, adamantine?
Does knowledge presage it, thinkest Thou
Of hundred obstacles that would impede its flow?

How does Thou reconcile this divergent polarity
Of pin-drop sized mortality and Thy infinity?
Dost Thou conceive a fixed end in Thy will
Or does it flow as Time’s waters that never still?

What art Thou, faceless Truth being all faces,
Formless, featureless, source of all our graces?
How must we approach Thee, silent or crouched,
With worded or wordless prayer to be approached?

O Archer, of all shafts of will in Thy quiver,
Is there one to ferry me to Thy feet and deliver?