Is love’s summation joy and pleasure bound,
Or yet subtraction of life’s grief and pain?
In what additions can true love be found,
Or is such calculus but wrought in vain?
No—love is life when joined and shared as one;
The obverse and reverse of golden coin;
For pleasure shared is greater than one sum,
And multiplies the bliss in hearts conjoined;
Thus we together form one pure gestalt—
A greater whole than merely added two;
Defying logic, we in love default,
Belying numbers, writing math anew!
While sharing be division of some parts,
The greatest sum—the union of two hearts.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

So do you still call out my cursed name
When sunset’s stage does cede to darkest night;
When fearsome caricatures stalk your dreams
And beads of sweat your silken skin affright?
Do you awaken then in abject fear
And search black shadows for some trace of me—
Or yet to phantom phones that ring too clear,
A call of nothingness to hear or see?
For nothingness is all that shall remain
Save memories of bitter, barren days;
And in your mind I shall embrace all blame,
Your iron ego razing truth away.
In cruel lies you did my heart malign—
So may my memory haunt you for all time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Like a lone actor on an empty stage,
I linger here, uncertain of my part;
With lines forgot—not knowing on what page,
Or when to enter now and spill my heart.
Not knowing how to feel or what do—
Nor when to start or stop each ad libbed line,
Nor when to bow and bid the crowd adieu,
Nor mark the silent passage made by time.
Still I will act as though my God does see
And speak as though He hears each fallen word,
To give my passion thus sweet liberty
And throw my living art upon His sword—
For though my act upon this stage be flawed,
I shall play on—but for the grace of God.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The hues of nature you have robbed in vain,
Filched too, the painted pastels of your eyes,
False beauty’s tints cannot here hide your pain,
Nor yet the evil that your heart belies.
Rouge powdered cheeks—the rose’s stolen bloom,
Your gilded flaxen hair, poached from the sun,
A visage drawn from out night’s purse of gloom—
Bold lipstick stains leave paramours undone.
But Siren colors washed with light of day,
Will run like dye in heaven’s weeping tears,
Exposing thus your harlequin display,
Made starker by the honest march of years.
You lived a life of sordid pantomime;
To such a farce, the greatest judge is Time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.