The kingdom is a kingdom of slow change, of mountains wearing down to sand, to dust, a world cocoon where atoms rearrange, becoming something new. Help me to trust when all within me screams for cataclysm and earthquake shattering our ancient chains, but all you offer is this slow baptism, my rust and weathering beneath your rains. If you are patient with me, let it teach my anxious heart some patience with your ways. This stone heart worn to sand along your beach will cast no shadow in your morning’s rays, but catch the light, refract—no flaws or mars— and all the sand that’s left will shine like stars.
Sand from Pismo Beach, California. By Wilson44691: Mark A. Wilson, Department of Geology, The College of Wooster - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4436177
The days roll into years; the years roll on; the efforts of a life pile up as leaves. They leave no monument when they are gone, and no one but the tree who lost them grieves. Despairing of improvement, still I’m drawn to that bright hope my heart as yet believes. The day will come: You’ll show me mercy yet when kindness and hard truth have finally kissed; when peace and justice on the field have met, not just as velvet glove and iron fist but partners in a gentle minuet— ‘til then despair and hope must coexist. But they will fall as autumn leaves in turn, when all things in your love at last will burn.
*Edited 7:42 pm (CST), 10/9/25: On
’s suggestion, I changed the last couplet, above.
Lovely sonnets! The first one speaks to my heart today. He makes all things beautiful in his time, even when it feels like we are going in reverse. The final couplet is satisfying with the image of worthless sand sparkling like glass. There's a sense of futility in the second one, with all the effort accumulating into dried up leaves, that I really appreciate, and I wonder if a different final couplet could return to that leaf/tree metaphor to round it out? Sometimes we do not see the fruit of our labor, and that second sonnet gives me permission to feel this. Thank you, Kate!
Both these poems turn on the trope of salvation via destruction of the self, ground into sand or fallen into leaves. I think the last two lines you proposed to the second - which has the days like autumn leaves burned - is a much better, truer ending. I have a vision of your bookshelf with copies of Herbert, Vaughn and Donne in pride of place. A grand tradition to be working in. Thank you!