Sonnet 59

As cat with mouse you do but play with me
Abusing with cruel love, then letting go;
Then but to claw me back again to thee
With pain my tender flesh has grown to know.
Once bitten and released I crawl away,
Toward the light that shines through open door,
Then, moments from escape comes my dismay,
The dream of freedom played, is but no more.
A feline fantasy is now my lot:
In tortured turmoil I shall spend my time,
Repeated horrors haunt the love I sought-
Yet loving you can be my only crime.
For you, love’s joy resides in bringing pain;
For me, loves’ sorrows bring me back again.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If You Were A But A Rhyme

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 capture 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.

Sonnet 58

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 unsuspecting souls,
Blinding its’ prey with wanton devil dust,
Perverting passion for the devils’ goals.
But denizens of dark do fear the light
Of passion that is truly heaven blessed,
And surely as a torch allays the night,
Fade back to 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.