Sonnet 414

A flash of pink, and green, now gold, then white:
All these perennial colors earth bestows,
Here spinning ever swiftly in our sight,
Thus so each season’s guidon gleams and goes.
Why does the hand of Time, this color wheel
Turn ever faster in a painted whirl
‘Til every hue on this great twirling reel
Does run together in a passioned blur?
Yet truth does tell, the turning of this world
Slows every year an infinitesimal part,
But to our eyes this seems a lie fair bold
When every meted day grows ever short.
So changes thus our world by sleight of hand,
Yet those deceived still find the circuit grand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 413

Here unabashed by deeds that bring you shame,
When all believe you lured him to your bed;
You rail aloud that he defiled your name,
Demanding redress claim the marriage stead;
Affected tears do more than stain that breast
That has borne pleasure to a rake or two,
So why has not the former been your quest
Where female virtue hails but once to lose?
Is it perchance the others had no means,
No well-fixed purse on which pure love might grow,
No shekels sweet to further nuptial dreams
Or rank of note proud status might bestow?
You gave away your honor for a song
And now demand a kingdom for a wrong.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 412

And shall they laud the wonders of your name?
Only when by praising they accrue
Infinitesimal access to your fame
Where they might of your essence self imbue.
Yes, hear it now my friend, I knew him once,
I met him then, yea many years ago
And he was (this or that) I can pronounce:
Thus so the swindled tattle now may go.
Yet truth fair known, they would as surely tell
A story that would so denounce you there,
That you be sworn to truly hail from hell
And of your evil, there be no compare.
To resurrect or murder yet in kind,
So tongues oft see where every eye is blind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 411

Every atom of my being here has changed,
And yet my love for you remains the same;
On the four corners of this world I’ve ranged,
Yet no love for another, you defames.
What corpuscle then holds this lasting light
When all the dust that made me turns but so?
Each day that remake differs ever slight,
As cracks and weathered edges here do show.
Each year this sentient soil is so replaced
And I am not the man of yesterday,
Here still my heart may tremble in your grace
And love remains unchanged despite time’s sway.
Love as a truth endures, forever grand,
And being true, transcends the mortal sand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 410

In the scheme of life, what have you proven?
Your babe lies cradled in a stranger’s arms;
And of that sweet mother’s love, what part is given,
Who weighs the worth of your maternal charms?
Each day you toil, that child, bereft of breast
Is shaped in purpose by another’s mind;
His rote routines now formed of her behest
So he may follow all her truths in mime.
His changing face and smile, yea his first words
Each day do but reward a distant ear,
While late in evenings you return from work
Too tired to play, and mock him with a tear.
In trek to darkness, what chaos pure love braves,
Where hands that once rocked cradles, now dig graves?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 409

Thinking now of you again in happy pride,
That you and I in love were once conjoined
And of that union now, I shan’t deride
Or yet that heart, another has purloined.
What ever was now seems not meant to be,
More like a tarnished trinket lost of shine,
One I should never hence be want to see
Adorn in pleasure, any cloak of mine.
Yet of that bauble that was once our love,
From time to time I shall reflect there on
That gilt can so be lost on simple rub
And that deemed gold, debased while barely worn.
So when considering thus, I say forsooth!
The thinnest gloss can hide the darkest truth.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 408

Although you call it thus, it cannot be
And of sound truth, perhaps your eyes deceive,
For there is but just one reality
Regardless of what figment thoughts conceive.
Belief alone has never made things so,
Although a heart may wish and thus acclaim,
But facts are facts and ever will be, though,
Others may of falsehood wrongly blame.
The brighter light can so illuminate
Pure elements that shadow may obscure,
So may we say of sound intelligence
That it perceives as clear what other blur.
The sharper intellect draws to itself
A world discerned where many cannot delve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 407

Much like the sapling oak, so has love grown,
More mighty with the march of menaced time,
And from those branches, other acorns sown
As living tributes to that arbre sublime.
With limbs upraised unto grand heaven, blessed
By golden rays of that celestial light,
Nourished by dear Earthen mother’s breast
And sky borne tears of joy or sadness quite.
But when I see such glory fallen down,
Now dry of sap, compounding into clay,
Wherein this vestige is sweet love now found
Or does that verdant light but fade away?
My gaze now rests on seedlings that portend;
True love yet lives and shall but rise again.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 406

Now sixty years to heaven, plus a few,
Awash in bounty of those given there,
Hoping yet that many more accrue,
Quite knowing that four score is oft deemed fair.
Now thinking of those many morning suns
That blessed the passage of my journey’s course,
Of battles lost and triumphs that I won
And of scars earned for better or for worse;
Not shirking duty, I did bear the cost
Of iron will determined to succeed
And though the prize be won or sorely lost,
I proudly grasped my sword and took the lead.
I weathered every blow, bore every scorn…
And never rued the day that I was born.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.