Sonnet 98

When time has weighed its’ measure on your eyes,
Pronouncing judgement on your passing years;
When paints and potions cannot here disguise,
The time torn furrows of your bitter tears.
What truthful glass would yet defend you now?
Commute the sentence that just time proclaims?
For if that glass your truth of heart would show,
No clemency would his shrewd writ contain.
The winds of lust and leisure bore you on;
Veneers of lacquered lies did you surround;
From truth and love and prayers you did abscond,
Vile credo thus has brought you to this end.
Despite false pigments, time has not been kind,
Where life so lived leaves more than truth behind.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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