Sonnet 191

Your sins became a shadow on my mind,
A stain of dark betrayal and love lost,
A blot I hoped would pale over time,
Yet found with waxing years, that it would not;
With passing time, love has meant more to me,
More than a simple fancy to indulge;
A sacred trust that braves eternity,
Proud thought and action ever to promulge;
Of vile deception, what does one proclaim,
Save pure love can be damned by wicked lies,
And when so blackened, what of love remains
That is still true, and cannot be decried?
But lo, a sweeter love expunged my stain!
And your black heart, in shadows, shall remain.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 190

Here you shall live, immortalized in ink,
Like beauties past, of whom proud poets sing;
And those who read shall wonder and there think,
Entranced in tableaux that my verse shall bring.
All vestitures of beauty you do wear,
Like sovereigns’ jewels that glitter in the sun;
The colors that you own, no sylph would dare,
To mimic in brash paint with brushes dun.
Still, pens and portraits cannot capture yet
That loveliness that in your heart does dwell,
There inner beauty and that outward set
Ensconce a truth that has no parallel;
All belles that read these words and bid compare:
Hold council with your glass, and so despair.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 189

Why have you stayed when time has sapped my youth
And bent my branches like an aging oak?
Your sunshine smile metes life and still does soothe
Dread winters’ cold, much like a warm chinook;
Relentless time has weather worn my bark,
And on that crown, my faded leaves hang shorn;
I stand a craven relic, visage stark,
Whose rack has braved the might of every storm.
What shelter now do crooked limbs provide
Here barren, grey and stiff, bereft of cheer?
What providence do fruitless hands betide
When heavens’ thunder stroke looms ever near?
Yet you rewake new life like breaths of spring;
Each time you smile, loves’ sap fair flows again.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 188

What mountains must I climb to reach the sky?
Wrestling and wriggling, wracking and writhing,
Driven by that unknown sense of do or die,
Legs thrusting, heart pounding, hands seizing
Razor rocky outcrops, clods of shorn grass
To gain advantage on that murderous mound
Of granite, thrust upward from an ancient past
That reared steep heights from cataclysmic ground.
What dubious joy when finally at the top,
Save freedom now with no where left to trek
But back the same; or over off the drop…
What course to choose now, either forth or back;
And if I choose the former, who would know,
When summers’ melt unbinds these bones from snow?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 187

Sylvia, sweet Sylvia, where are you
Now? My heavy heart still pines to have you near;
The grieving moon lays low, pallid with rue,
And stars do twinkle, cold, bereft of cheer.
I let you go without a fond farewell,
Oft dreaming that we would soon meet again,
But time eclipsed you in its somber veil…
Now fretted memories of lost love remain.
Oh that this muted moon would show the way,
And light the darkened trail back to your heart;
From your soft warm embrace I’d never stray,
And we in love reblessed, would never part.
Would but these silent heavens hear my plea,
And guide me to that face I long to see.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 186

You left me burning in the morning sun,
Which leered through dirty windows by the bed;
Cold sheets reminding that you were now gone,
Vapors of vodka torturing my head.
I could still smell your pungent sweet perfume
Mixed with erotic sea smells on my fingers;
Your sultry essence saturates the room,
Melodic laughter in my memory lingers;
The pillow near me, smeared with lipstick blue,
Though in dim light, I thought the color black;
Your absence now, these memories misconstrued,
Excluding midnight dreams, you might come back.
I gazed across the nightstands’ grimy top;
The money still was there, the rose was not.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.