Sonnet 97

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

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 96

So do you still call out my hate cursed name
When sunset’s stage is cloaked in dark of night;
When fearsome caricatures do haunt your dreams
And beads of sweat your precious skin does blight;
Do you awaken then in abject fear
And search black shadows for some proof of me;
Or yet to phantom phones that ring quite 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 still all truth to raze.
In cruel lies you did my heart malign;
So may my memory haunt you for all time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 95

Like a lone actor on an empty stage,
I am but here alone within my part;
With lines forgot, not knowing joy or rage
Should enter here, this moment of my art;
For what to feel or say I have no cue,
Or when to start or stop each ad libbed line,
Or when to bow and bid the crowd adieu,
Or even yet, the tally of passed time.
Still I will act as though my God does see
And speak as though He hears each fallen word,
And give my passion thus sweet liberty
To throw my living art upon this sword;
For though my act upon this stage be flawed,
I soldier on, but for the grace of God.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 94

The hues of nature you have robbed in vain,
Even the stolen pastels of your eyes,
False beauty’s paint cannot here hide your pain,
Nor yet the evil of your heart’s disguise.
Rouge powdered cheeks, the fragrant rose once owned,
Your guilded flaxen hair, poached from the sun,
Soft visage beige, from evening’s shadows loaned,
Stained ruby lips – leave paramours undone.
But Siren colors washed by light of day,
Or caused to run by blessed heaven’s tears,
Uncovers thus, your harlequin masquerade,
And clearer still; brute honesty of years.
You lived a life of sordid pantomime;
To this charade, the greatest truth is time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.