Sonnet 107

You play the victim well, my dear, it seems,
And draw your self up when words that are spoken
Impugn your fashioned 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 serve your purpose here.
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.

Sonnet 106

For how do I embrace the coming dark
With lightened heart and equanimity?
My greatest fear, we two shall ever 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 from our breasts all loving breath shall flow?
Then let us dance within the present light,
And let us drink our wine and eat our bread;
And may your beauty never stray my sight,
And may we 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.

Sonnet 105

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,
It is a blessing that fond hearts bestow;
It is a gift that never is for nought,
A sacred reverence that with time can grow.
Love is an understanding, deep and pure
That like souls feel when they connect in time;
It is a promise that does not immure
In twisted tenets that false creeds define.
The human heart is best defined by love;
As in these lines my thoughts on you may prove.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 104

Black branches laden heavy there with snow,
The silent pines like sentinels do stand,
Barring entrance to all that dare to go,
A fearsome fortress; breach us if you can!
Yet not so awful to a wounded heart;
Those moveless darkling dragoons etched in ice
Whose frozen silver daggers there comport
Phantasmal menace to the coming night.
Yet of this menace I now have no fear
For in their ranks I know sweet death must live;
These daunting horsemen now my heart’s compeer
Whose breakless bonds some solace here do give.
In frigid darkness yet some warmth I see,
And in their midst, some winsome hope for me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.