Sonnet 185

Where knights may flash to death in iron down,
Or damsels slake of venom at love’s loss;
Famed kingdoms razed unto a battleground,
Or golden crowns exchanged for mistress glossed;
What essence rules with such majestic power?
What sovereign life so blessed would court such bane,
While seeming to embrace for but an hour,
All utter worth there pledged, yet for what gain?
Still, regal souls fall slave to servitude,
And robust hearts may bleed to staunch a tear,
Great empires mire unto a bitter feud
That sylphs remain a sovereigns’ souvenir.
What awesome power so waged, and by whose hand,
That mighty hearts would kneel to such command?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 184

If words can move you, let them move you now,
Before the last of love fades from your eyes;
For if you leave, my head shall ever bow,
My loves’ weak substance, ever too despise.
Yet with what grace do I your pleasure hold?
What worth not spent does your dear heart secure?
To please your fancy, play I meek or bold?
What proof of love would your sweet soul immure?
Then call I now to happy hours spent,
To every memory worthy of loves’ praise,
To warm embrace and kisses heaven sent,
To joy and laughter thronging wills and ways;
And may black ink admixed with silver tears,
Anoint new life to all that love endears.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 183

It is sweet sadness when by lovers torn
I torture heart and soul on which to choose,
When each by each is sure a beauty born,
And both so dear, I fear for one to lose;
E’en measured by pure virtue, both the same,
Not one or other holds the finer grace,
By choosing one, the other I defame,
And thus one love endorse and one disgrace;
Yet choose I must, ‘neath eyes of man and god,
Though having wife and mistress does allure,
But wife or mistress, still one heart is trod,
And to all eyes, at best, I play the boor.
What must one do when every right seems wrong,
And joy and sorrow mingle in one song?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 182

Banishing love, you now proclaim us friends;
Staunch friends forged in the furnace of love lost,
Where words expressed replace once soft held hands
And loving eyes are now stern fate embossed;
What passion lives within this seeming truce,
These smoldering ashes quenched with passions’ tears,
Where concord is for love a poor excuse
And poorer still, staid quantum of loves’ years.
What adoration bears this fall from grace,
Proud glory once, reduced to meager state;
No lips to kiss, no arms of sweet embrace,
Bright smile of hope now veiled in pall of fate.
Ordain in friendship that which once was love
Is from dear heaven unto drab earth here move.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 181

These silent heart felt words here humble drawn,
On grief stained paper where no pen should write,
All passion yet or wisdom seeming gone;
No vision left to give black ink its sight.
Yet words like tears on paper white do fall,
Or fly like crusted leaves before the wind;
Does writing such loves’ great despair forestall,
Or craft the writ that brings love to this end?
What peerless ink could ever change your mind;
What poets’ hand could melt a frozen heart?
Can loves’ sweet memories in these lines entwined
Entreat forgiveness and fresh love impart?
If words may move your heart, please make it so,
Or else unto oblivion let me go.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.