You wear your years so well, my love, you know—
Three decades hence, yet still you seem a child;
But time like rivers ever onward flow—
Perhaps in love ones’ eyes are then beguiled.
No earthly flower could hold its bloom as you,
Against the seasons wear of wind and sun;
When other beauty lies in wrinkled ruin,
Your fairest lease shall then have just begun.
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty” it has been said;
Perhaps this then explains the present state
Where your fair smile is but your truth expressed,
And not some mortal hue enslaved to fate;
If this be such, this question may arise—
Is beauty truth that time can turn to lies?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I should have known when I first saw you there
Against the backdrop of that summer morn,
That soon my soul would drown in sweet despair
And languish in your wake, in sorrow torn;
But how could I have known it then, my love—
Your velvet hand would one day crush my heart
Where once it held my spirit high above
And stayed all sorrow like some sound rampart.
What casualty could curdle sweetest dreams
And callously fond human hope despise?
What chance could tarnish all that future gleams
And cast true love into this sad demise?
Still, if I had known then what I know now—
Again unto that magic would I bow.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Though years and miles may wedge between two friends,
Resigning heartfelt thoughts to quiet lines;
The truest love such barriers transcend
As though ’twere but the merest mark in time.
Long winters and dark nights mar not the hope
That strengthens with the passing of each hour,
And lonely fools in blindness often grope
When guided not by love’s enduring power.
Thus though vast distance holds us two apart
And cruel time may dim fond memory,
Your sterling truth shall ever clasp my heart
And soothe my restless soul eternally—
‘Tis for such truth I hold you still on high;
And for such truth you know that I would die.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

When I have wrung the sweetness from my youth
And gained the wisdom earned from passing days,
Sad knowledge should then outweigh naive truth
With which upon the world I once did gaze.
Then may I bid farewell to childhood grace
That once adorned the world in fantasy,
And welcome then instead the moveless face
—Of life beleaguered in reality.
For misspent youth I then shall make defense
And proudly show the pearls such years have gleaned,
And in so doing then make recompense
For reckless strife that marred my younger schemes.
Glad folly can enlighten, this believe—
But that which pleases heart, the soul may grieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

What right have I to feel I was betrayed
When fate and time and chance must have their due?
In truth, no promise ever there was made
That joined us in a bond as one, not two;
And have I then the right to grieve my loss?
To bathe myself in self-reproaching woe?
When casualty has tarnished future gloss,
And not deceit—for still your heart is gold.
Yet your fair face did rob me of sound sight
And made glad hope transcend reality,
And misinterpretation was my plight,
Believing of you what I chose to see.
Yet for such error why should I then be sad,
And weep for loss of that I never had?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The sins of night can shroud the world in hate
And cloak dark shadows with their hideous power;
And snakes and sightless vermin animate
And wait the coming of the witching hour;
And you in webs of lace lie on your bed,
And paint each silver nail a sanguine hue;
And cloying perfume clouds your pretty head,
And crimson lips now hum a common tune;
And when the time is right you face the mirror,
Reviving wilting colors of your youth—
The gargoyle princess thus can reappear
Avowing the stark reflection of your truth;
And though you smile and flaunt the devil’s guise—
The sorrow in your eye can tell no lies.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The evening finds me here again alone,
‘Midst pictures and fond memories of you;
And long dark shadows slowly set the tone
Of somberness that haunts each night anew.
The sun then slowly drowns itself in night
And smothers evening gold in grey and gloom;
Hot tears do sting and blur my weary sight
As I recall your presence in this room.
The sweetness of your smile still lingers on,
Much like the smell of blossoms, summer born;
And thus I feel you here though you are gone—
Your memory my rose, the pain my thorn;
For not a day has passed since you did leave
That sorrow has not stalked without reprieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

When time has robbed you of your angel guise
And blanched the roses in your cherub cheeks,
Your silver mirror friend you will despise
Whose silent council oft you once did seek.
What will you think of youth’s proud failing light
Whose passing proves your stark mortality?
And what then of your beauty’s fickle flight
Whose presence will soon seem but heresy?
What then of youthful dalliance foregone,
And daring dreams now mocked and marred by time?
How will you greet the swift receding dawn—
Now but a saddened memory of your prime?
You mocked life’s bud, and now you mock its bloom;
You squander time—nay, time will squander you.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I felt your breath upon my cheek last night—
So velvet-soft and yet like roses sweet;
I saw your skin bathed in a silver light,
Your bed afloat on moonlit shadows deep.
Your chest did rise and fall in noiseless peace,
Felt by my hand, though hidden from the eye;
And sable hair, as soft as finest fleece,
Did frame a mien as gossamer as a sigh.
I held you close and felt your body’s heat
Warm first my heart and then my very soul,
For with your grace no angel could compete—
Nor could she such a blissful gift bestow.
Thus lay I watching o’er you in your sleep,
To softly mourn that which I cannot keep.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.