Should I awake tomorrow and find you gone;
Forever fled from reach of hand or eye,
Like silken mists which can obscure the sun
And vanish in the wake of azure sky.
Could I be sure that you were ever here?
That once upon a time my life you graced?
That you were flesh and blood that I held near,
And not some blissful angel chance displaced?
For what could reassure me of such truth?
Convince me that ’twere not but wishful dreams?
That ’twere not but some quaint yet cheerless ruse
That mind could perpetrate with memory?
Thus would my state be such if you should leave,
And I be left to wonder, more than grieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

As men and ages slowly fade to dust,
And worldly countenance succumbs to change;
In misbegotten youth lies future trust
While aged men oft watch in silent rage;
When grappling with the thought of where life’s bound;
Where lies the wisdom of our yesteryears;
Why should the pace of time our hope impound?
Or rapid change fill rigid mind with fear?
That wisdom comes with age is often told,
But with it come restricted vision too;
‘Tis youth that spawns tomorrows’ righteous old,
And in so doing, conflicts rise anew;
Thus through the course of time this story wends,
To but begin again before it ends.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

When autumns’ mysterious alchemy
Does gild with gold the hues of summer past;
Fond memories of you return to me,
And I recount the joining of our paths.
I do recall the softness of your eyes;
Cascades of rich and lustrous raven hair;
I close my eyes and you are by my side,
A trick I’ve learned; my loneliness to bear.
Truth, honesty and beauty all in one,
And countenance of porcelain so fine;
A fairer flower never saw the sun,
A rarer treasure never could I find.
What can a fool, in ink, attempt to do,
But pay tribute to an angel fair as you.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Youth’s thorned crown is that of wizened age,
Which righteous life or chance perhaps bestow.
Should golden youth aspire to wisest sage;
‘Cross Styx or pearly gate he still must go.
Yet what’s the gift when time hath stayed deaths hand?
Stooped back, gnarled cane perhaps a toothless grin?
Too oft men deem that such a state be grand,
Then take times test and end life much chagrined.
When years transform bright eyes to dullest pearl,
And frailty creeps into every bone;
Is this the prize of life our hope unfurls,
Before we meet sad destiny alone?
Perhaps ’tis but time’s wish to humble man,
And have him crawl, not march to meet his end.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Blissful sleep, drown me in the warmth of night,
Disperse my troubles amidst twinkling stars,
And all that wretched day hath wronged set right,
Then float me to some distant tranquil shore-
Let darkness rob me of my memory,
Transpose instead kaleidoscopes of dreams
And take me to a land of fantasy,
Where I can rest on beds of soft moonbeams.
Gentle sleep, quench the thirst of weariness
And rock me in the cradle of thine arms,
Immerse me in the depths of peacefulness
And mock death’s shadow with thy potent charms.
Dearest sleep, thou art like the finest wine
Which when quaffed deeply, serves to soothe the mind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Should tedious days mock me to the end,
And mar my future with impoverished strife;
Should leaden burdens cause my back to bend,
And tortured turmoil haunt my every night;
Should darkest hours like a decade be,
And every winter last a thousand years;
Each second be an eon’s agony,
And every moment hold a billion fears;
Should heaven’s brightest orb surcease to shine,
And wretched clouds forever mask the moon,
Should dark despair devour all my time,
And stalk me to the very edge of doom;
I feel that I could bear it if I knew,
That on the morrow I would be with you.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

So many minds have contemplated Time,
And one day dubbed him fast, the next day slow,
Yet each knows he’s as constant as the tides;
‘Tis merely thinking such that makes things so.
No favorite plays he with mortal things;
The tortoise and the hare each have their hour,
And like as such the changing seasons bring,
Both life and death to every living flower;
For Time’s not fast or slow, but Time is just;
Majestic mountains are tomorrow’s sand,
And in such changing we may place our trust;
The vastest oceans are tomorrow’s land.
So come then, take my hand and walk with me,
And in proud step we’ll mock eternity.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Could I but choose to wait a century;
I am fair certain I should never find,
A friendship like the one you’ve shared with me,
The endless smiles, the selfless thoughts so kind.
What quirk of fate hath caused our paths to cross:
Joined joy and sorrow in a love’s embrace,
And then as though ’twere but a pitch and toss,
Crass casualty should have such love disgraced.
Thus have we shared a dance in life’s great ball;
And felt our heart fires kindle, burn and die.
Two granite monuments destined to fall;
Like rivers which with time will hence run dry.
How can cruel fate such sorrow have unfold
And let me touch that which I cannot hold.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If mortal mind has strength to transcend time
In words transcribed in ink or rigid stone;
Then shall your visage live etched in this rhyme,
If beauty can in words like this be told.
If I could capture all the youth in spring,
The freshness of a year of dew clad morns,
The warmth that home and hearth in winter bring,
And scents that in a thousand roses burn.
If I could capture all thine imagery,
If quill or chisel could transfix thy worth;
Then could my case challenge eternity,
And in these lines thy beauty gain new berth.
It is my hope, my love, that this be true,
And in my verse thine image shine anew.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

When endless tedium obscures life’s plan
And drapes tomorrow in grey drudgery,
The hands that once held hope now sift the sand,
And steadfast heart now labors sullenly.
The vacant eyes then greet the morning light
And feed on boredom, broth and stale bread,
While chains of yesterday our future blights
As onward to our destiny we tread.
When life’s monotony assumes this state
And subverts happiness in dark despair,
The once proud mind reflects and ruminates
Its fall from grace, its journey most austere.
Yet thoughts of you my love, my spirits swell;
And lacking this, no sorrow could I quell.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.