As cat with mouse, you do now play with me,
Abusing with cruel love, then letting go;
Then, to claw back again with savage glee
In pain my tender flesh has grown to know.
Once bitten and released, I crawl away,
Toward the light that shines through open door,
But just as I escape, comes my dismay—
That dream of freedom played is but no more.
A feline fantasy seems my sad lot;
In tortured turmoil I shall spend my time,
Repeated horrors haunt the love I sought-
Where loving you remains my only crime.
For you, love’s joy resides in bringing pain;
For me, love’s sorrows bring me back again.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If I were just a poet,
And you were but a rhyme.
I’d wish that you I’d written,
In praise for endless time;
That words could recite beauty
And you’d be ever mine.
If I were but a poet,
And you were just a rhyme.

Though I am scarce a poet,
It still would be sublime
To try and capture beauty
In just a single line;
So in these words I’ve written
Imprisoned you shall shine,
For I am sure a poet,
And you shall live in rhyme!

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If love be love then I was n’er untrue—
For love and lust have ever been the twain.
True love cannot sweet promise misconstrue,
And to staunch hearts, remains its guiding flame.
Lust is the shadowed all consuming beast
That feeds on flesh and weak unguarded souls,
Blinding its prey with wanton devil dust,
Perverting passion for the devils’ goals.
But denizens of dark do fear the light
Of fervor that is truly heaven blessed,
And surely as a torch allays the night,
Fades to pitch black, until the next behest.
For love’s enduring flame burns ever on—
Lust rages at the moon, and then is gone.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.