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
Steadfast you’ve stood 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’ve 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 fate’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.


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,
Enacting there the gift of better ways
That we bestowed before proud years were done;
And 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 subsistent 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,
Pure grace abused to foster 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,
Vaporous silvered clouds her 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.