Though eyes may never scan these fading lines,
And tongues may never speak the truths they hold;
Though Heaven may not bless what hope designs,
This rune may yet survive as stories old.
Preserved on yellowed parchment from this age
In need of knowing eyes to speak again;
To stir some unknown soul, and so engage
And touch what human vestiges remain.
Once, lost in time, a man a beauty loved,
And worshipped her on high with force supreme;
But though his heart with peerless passion moved
His heartfelt pledge was ruthlessly demeaned.
What matters to a love that lasts all time,
If it lies etched in unrequited rhyme?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.