Sacred Beatitude (Sonnet #302) Poem by Tina Baaklini

The will is mighty, yet not the mightiest,
Our will writes destiny; God's will writes fate.
Actors we are, and God the novelist,
We're but mere puppets that a soul creates.

How poor is will's power when hearts command!
Will you, nill you, your heart will melt as fire.
Falling in love is fate's call, out of hand,
A soulful bond runs deep beyond desire.

Our love, O soulmate, is a seed sown by God,
Thus was my heart ordained to cherish you.
You're my celestial bliss, my heart's own laud,
Without the sky's embrace, what would earth do?

You crown my life with sacred beatitude,
My fate I praise, hands raised in gratitude.

Copyright © Tina Baaklini