Sonnet 271

Yes now I know that you have been untrue
And silver tears now fall upon this bed
As you atone for sin in heartfelt rue,
And sordid shadows swirl inside my head;
Where do we go, where do we go from here,
What angel or what whore do I now hold?
From this point on deceit a constant fear
And every truth mere stories that I’m told.
I say my peace to calm two wounded hearts;
Grim rancor shall not be my standard now,
This strain forced sadness does not here comport
With all the details I have come to know;
I wipe your face and kiss you then goodnight—
In aching silence plan tomorrow’s flight.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 270

So you shall live in this sweet dying art
Your essence etched in ink as beauties past,
For if a poet’s pen may capture worth
I pray these words may never be surpassed;
If sweetest essence can distill in rhyme
May those who quaff fall blind in imagery
As those who search for angels on the sun
Or strain for mermaids on a moonlit sea;
For what is beauty but a living dream,
And what is truth, not but a tenet sure,
Yet when the two are joined in esse supreme – –
From radiance such … a sylph beyond compare.
If these words lie, then may god strike me dead,
But if so true, need nothing more be said.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 269

I greet you now with silver in your hair,
Life-scoured, adorned with vestiges of time
And yet you speak a warmth I’ve longed to hear
That has not altered with your passing prime;
Your hands now crooked, dapple stained with age,
Soft hands that once held firm the sands of life – –
Hands that formed fists of triumph or of rage
Or pressed in prayer to calm that inner strife;
Your movements deft, now slowed as in a dream
Yet eyes still bright with wit and willing fire,
A gentle smile that frames your greater theme
Replete with kindness, love and hope’s desire.
You are still you and age a mere disguise,
A garment worn; your truth lives in your eyes.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 268

I am proud to pen your beauty’s legacy
For rarest flowers should never fade unsung;
Though portraits rich with outward praise may be
So flattering to the eyes, the lips stay dumb.
Yet pictures cannot show the blessed soul
Or yet the golden luster of pure heart;
More oft with words are complex truths fair told
That show at once both out and inward part.
In paint, no doubt your beauty reigns supreme
But here in words I capture essence sweet,
For thus in ink do truth and beauty reign
And sovereign worth was never more complete.
To capture such on canvas, this I dare:
A flawless angel blessed beyond compare.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 267

I have not purged the rhythm in my soul,
Nor has death yet here silenced beating heart;
But of this time called living, this I know,
Your love for me has made the better part.
With you I have not faced the world alone
For you have been forever at my side,
And in soft gentle ways your love has shown
Your heart to be as constant as the tide;
But what have I to give to love denote
For all the precious caring you bestowed?
Not but these simple tear stained words I wrote,
Well knowing naught can pay the debt you’re owed;
In ink I pledge to mighty gods above,
That I am yours in pure unending love.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 266

I have trained hard to learn the craft of war
Yet love not rancor is my driving force;
I’ve studied every battle gone afore
That I may know the cunning of the worst.
I’ve pushed my sinew to the breaking point,
Borne hardship that did every nerve inflame,
Harsh deprivation did my soul anoint,
Made ‘death before dishonor’ my sole claim.
I do not fear the odds, for death’s my friend
Yet I love life as much as any soul,
And I shall give my all right to the end
That every action may my truth uphold.
Where many pay in words, I pay in blood;
When lips and guns fall dumb; what greater love?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Godspeed

Fly my beautiful cherub, fly;
God’s gift so held a precious while,
Those cheerful moments that beguile
Glad hearts that never grasp goodbye.

I know the time to go is nigh
As you embark upon that mile,
I hide a heavy heart and smile
As tears well up and sting my eye.

This joyous pain cannot deny
Sweet memories that staunch hearts compile
Though it may seem that love’s on trial,
I let you go with but a sigh.

I struggle and begin to cry,
Oh but to have you stay awhile
That love may not endure exile,
I understand yet still ask why.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 265

What remains at the end of living time,
Not but tales of the past, sweet memories
Of glory days when youth did reign sublime,
Every day redolent of victory;
But now, the body frail, the timid mind
Sees no more battles to be fought and won,
No more tall mountains worthy of hard climb,
No valleys ripe with spoil, dark depths unplumbed;
Still now I see the fruits of sportive days
Making new lives that are but theirs alone,
Carrying on the gift of wills and ways
That we bestowed before proud years were done;
So through their joys and woes we carry on,
As dying echos in a living song.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 264

What difference then within the human tribe
That some subsist while others rise above;
So marks the broadest spectrum of our kind
Where one may feast while one lives hand to mouth.
In our subsistence past some gathered more
But others in their fortune lagged and lost,
There nature exercised with brutal force
Who was to thrive and who was left the worse;
Yet when gods ruled and alms were solemn grace
The worth of charity was pure and strong
And serve we did so that when we saw His face
We knew that in His fold we did belong;
The rule of man now dictates piety,
Endorsements such ensuring sovereignty.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 263

Selena came to me again last night
Smiling, aloof, her Mona Lisa eyes
Following my every move, in jealous sight,
Using silvered clouds as a veiled disguise.
She watched me as I wandered through the trees
Walking the path down to the ancient mill
In darkened air stirred by a gentle breeze,
The brook flowed fast, but the broken wheel stood still;
Many times we met here borne by love alone
Listening to sweet nightingales sing
While the moveless wheel stopped up all hope torn foam
As to that sodden round my life did cling.
What love is this that nightly dreams do make?
To ravish so at dusk; at dawn forsake.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.