Thursday, April 4, 2013

Of Fumbling Caresses...a Sonnet

God created the world out of nothing,
and as long as we are nothing, He can make
something out of us. ~Martin Luther~





Moon-crescent dangles above tree-tops where
Night’s phantom fingers strum dawn’s blushing air
Blue and pink chalice tips over the dirt
Cradle of heartache and laughter and hurt

…now the moon fades into rivers of gold
A new day is drawn from Time’s ethereal fold
We touch our step to ephemeral soil
Reach for the hour of tender-sweet toil

We cannot tell what this new day will yield
As over the swell of earth's ocean and field
Daylight expands from night’s onyx abyss
Into human hands of fumbling caress

The unknown ripples; life-waves on earth’s dust
So I reach for the Fingers of One I can trust

© Janet Martin

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.