Advent

Tempest: the gnawing gale
Drives the rough sleepers from the seafront,
Sleet splinters flying on the wind’s wail.

Tempus fugit: time flees fast,
Drains away and is gone through fingers
That cling to be safe, cling to what cannot last.

Temper: a sword for its purpose is tried,
And a soul for its truth: what justice from you
For those who have nowhere to bide?

Tempus fugit: time runs out like the sand
When He comes who made time and asks
His searching question of those upon either hand.

tRuth 2018