Sonnet 164

Black waves now white with rage lash at the shore
Wet fingers clawing ragged cliffs of grey,
Tall stalwart stones still silent, moist with tears,
Saturnine, strong, with nothing left to say;
And still the waves lash out yet time again –
As if persistence might soon breach the wall,
Wroth tortured tantrum, seething, spite sustained,
Rebuffed in foam and shattered screams, they fall.
Oh life, oh love, oh hope, oh destiny!
What might I yet have done to have prevailed?
What pride resides in fool’s futility?
What providence should stand here unassailed?
So with pure might, ‘gainst savage stone I stand,
‘Til sweat and blood and tears grind stone to sand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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