You play the victim well, my dear, it seems,
And draw yourself up when words fair spoken
Impugn your tailored femininity—
Who would believe him, were your silence broken,
Yes, if you were to complain of this and that
Or squeeze a tear and some sad story feign?
You’d play that mouse much like a sated cat
And for small leisure watch his essence wane.
Who would not think you pure, a simple wight,
Guised in the tassels, tears and smiles you wear;
Yet you would strangle infants with delight,
If not for but to claim your purposed share.
“It’s all for fairness”—this I’ve heard you sing;
But care you not that decent men may swing.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

For how do I embrace the coming dark
With lightened heart and equanimity?
My greatest fear is that we two shall part
And loving bonds be lost eternally.
What truth still lives in dreams of ever after;
What proofs exist beyond the here and now?
How sad the fading echoes of our laughter
When soon from loving breasts all life shall flow?
Then let us dance within the present light,
And let us drink our wine and eat our bread;
Let not your beauty wander from my sight,
But let us couple daily ’til we’re dead.
You are my love, my light, my living bliss—
And I’d forsake sweet heaven for just one kiss.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Let us not say that we have loved in vain
Though waning passion oft is love’s memoir;
For love is love, and so it shall remain
If tended near or yet unstoked afar.
Love is a kindness that is not forgot,
The dearest blessing that fond hearts bestow;
Life’s precious gift that never is for nought,
A sacred reverence that true hearts enthrone.
Love is an understanding, deep and pure
That like souls feel when they connect in time;
It is a promise that all time endures,
Untouched by creeds or dogmas that confine.
The human heart is best defined by love;
So may these lines my thoughts on you yet prove.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Black branches burdened deeply down with snow,
These silent pines like sentinels do stand,
Barring all passage—those who might dare go—
A fearsome fortress—breach us if you can!
Yet not so dreadful to a wounded heart;
Those motionless dragoons, in ice enshrined,
Whose frozen silver daggers there impart,
A spectral menace to the doleful mind.
Yet of this peril, I have now no fear
Within their ranks sweet death itself abides;
These daunting horsemen are my comrades here,
Whose icy bonds some solemn peace provides.
In frigid dark, a tender warmth I see—
Amid their stillness, hope yet stirs for me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.