Arrival

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Arrival

Sonnet

All roads of thought to Thee have turned,
The alleyways of musing mutter Thy name,
The brooks of feeling too gurgle the same
Syllables in their run over pebbled ground.

A moss has grown over portraits of memory,
The vines of disregard clamber being’s edifice,
The windows of distraction are shuttered close
And a watch-tower aspiration looks to the sky

For Thy arrival athwart the far horizon line,
But no stir betrays Thy coming, no knock
Heard on being’s doors this silence to break,
All is mute but for the soul’s flame within.

My light is aloft on this life’s treacherous shore,
Lest any alarm baulk the arrival of my Sire.