Sonnet 274

I only write for you perhaps you know,
Eventide hours dreamt with pen in hand
There not so much that stately love may grow
For from first sight, it ever has stood grand;
I am content to dote on you alone
In those quieted moments when love sleeps,
The moon casts silent shadows that are thrown
Across my desk, spilt velvet ink that seeps
On to my page as into every soul
That reads some heartfelt line and feels a stir
Of poignant passion yet beyond control,
Replete with all life’s raging hopes and fears;
Awash in soft dark shadows here I think …
Without your love, what nothingness this ink.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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