Time is a Cord

Angel playing a harp, Exeter Cathedral

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This is another sonnet that I wrote, but this one has the harder Petrarchan rhyme scheme (ABBA ABBA ABBA CC). As a musician the image of a plucked string really resonates with me, and the idea of something that happens in the middle (the plucking) causing results involving the whole length of the string certainly models how the cross resonates across all of time. Interesting to muse on the fact that the string creates something beyond itself (music), does all of time also create something beyond itself?

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Time is a cord stretched; thus creation’s spanned
From fiery birth to fiery ending. Taut
And fitly tuned it waits, of nothing short
Save for the Master Craftsman’s loving hand.
Now see, the great musician takes his stand,
The string by strong and dexterous finger caught
Is set in motion, moving as it ought,
And bringing out the note that he has planned.
The pulses travelling back and forth demand
That all things work as one or all’s for naught:
Th’ Incarnations wasted and the thought
Is lost. But ’tis not so, and this one strand
Provides the tonic tone for those with ears
To listen to the harmony of the spheres.