An Advent Poem

Is this world that is before me,
All there really is to see?
Each moment's sight
Soon put to flight
Each new day dawns new drudgery.

Are poor senses all that can,
Tell me of mortal flesh and man?
Each movement spent,
In recompense,
For hopes and dreams soon tired and wan?

Eyes that search and scour the skies,
Seeking what beyond them lies,
Right next to me.
Eternity.
As every moment passing dies.

Yet within I feel, not know
That something greater wants to grow,
And reach toward,
The things quite hard,
To grasp as gently past they go.

And go beyond this passing ken
To see itself that new day when
The world of lights I will perceive
As new life, final breath conceives.

These eyes so lately fixed on earth,
Awaiting advent's final birth,
When on seeing,
God's fleshly Being,
In newborn babe, beside the hearth.

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