Sonnet 436

Your eyes burn with the fire that Caesar saw,
Your lips the sweetness Paris strove to claim,
Your truth locked in the charm Napoleon wore,
Your ardor’s might Potemkin sought to tame;
No storied torch of ages holds your light 
Which shines more bright than Layla’s kindled cause,
So striking Pyramus blind upon the sight 
Of Thisbe’s veil draped in the lion’s jaws.
No love more real, no ardor as profound,
No moment of desire could be more grand,
No truer heart by fate did love confound,
No knight more proud did ever make this stand.
I pledge my life to you forever more,
Where proved untrue, there put me to the sword.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 435

At times I write and poetry absconds
As if bound verse were longing to be free,
And yet my pen commands that it belong
Unto some stilted ordained harmony.
While anyone it seems can dash out prose
As children often crayon outside lines,
But to so yet a cogent ode compose
While keeping it within the realm of rhyme
Is still the truest challenge of the bard
To have his rune perform as in a dance;
Where every stroke like calculated fard
Does paint in ink, drab icons to enhance;
But let me state, a thought is still a thought,
Though writ by fools, and when it rhymeth not.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 434

Those pink blushed clouds and skies of baby blue,
Sun kissed of rose, the tip top distant trees;
Sweet feathered warblers croon fair loves to woo
While cherub buds soft sway upon the breeze.
The last of winters’ blight dissolves in tears
That join in silver rivulets trickling down;
Of denizens delight, the forest cheers
As vernal togs prim bashful floras don.
So is it now as it once ever was
The always present constancy of change,
As when it seems that everything is lost—
There stands a bloom to yet of hope upraise;
I fare in faith, whatever life may bring,
For you my flower stay redolent of spring.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 433

Sweet love remembered, silent tears do fall
Upon my breast wherein that heart you hold,
While muted murmurs stalk the vacant hall
And whisper in the hearth that now lies cold.
Oh love more rare than any love may be:
A moment held, and in a moment gone,
And of such loss, despair to ever see,
Eternal aching left to me alone.
For but a second yet to hold your hand,
To kiss those lips in pleasure more sublime,
To hold you in my arms in rapture grand—
Perhaps I’ll be forgiven yet in time.
One line of this perhaps, I pray you’ll  read,
And crush my heart or yet grant me reprieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 432

Am I a fool believing you are true
When my heart whispers oft it is not so;
A slave to love and virtue through and through
And yet, of truth, still question where you go.
Your frequent absence stirs a doubt in me,
Your explanations ever seem contrived,
As if you think that I am blind to see
That sophistry our sacred bond derides.
Why can you not say love for me is gone?
Why must we play this soulless sad charade?
Why should we labor when love’s work is done?
Why here yet kneel when every hope is prayed?
‘Tis best you leave me now, our hearts unbind,
And we in honest purpose, soulmates find.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 431

Long having labored in a different art,
One that did not ever fully feed my soul;
Still as a lordly minion did my part
And in sound measure, fair did play my role.
I mentored to the lame, the sick, the blind
And with keen blade I fought their dragons well;
Though everyday I did assuage their pain,
Of what lay vanquished, I could seldom tell.
While oft my passage lay in praise replete
I was still haunted by my failings there;
Of demons vile that I could not defeat
And of cruel carnage that did mete despair.
The path we choose is rare of reasoned rhyme:
Perhaps I will forgive myself in time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 430

What laurels lie in polished flattery
Exceeding proper bounds of human praise, 
When eyes so called upon can surely see
Bold in-congruencies on casual gaze?
If so, then nothing more that I could say
Would thus be deemed to be of artless truth
And were my judgement ever so to play,
Though ears might hear, all tongues would say forsooth!
Then of your beauty, I shall understate
And of your grace, in passing, I might tell;
Of slight suggestion minds exaggerate,
Right tendered words can so by thought excel.
Of acclamation thus, I show restraint:
A few choice words, grand images can paint.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 429

I write the best of you by candle light
When evenings shadows swaddle me in warmth,
Light stippled skies do hint of heaven bright
And fires’ fading gold lies in the hearth.
‘Tis then I sit alone in peace and pride
And dwell upon sweet images of you,
Of beauty strong that time cannot deride
And of a love that stays forever true.
In reverent silence while you sleep above
I murmur softly there that precious name
That unto tears can so my heart yet move
And silver down dear memories as rain.
No sweeter gift did god yet give to me
Than your dear love, which ever cherished be.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 428

The passing of a year exalted thus,
A death rejoiced, in merriment proclaimed
As if a dreaded tyrant fallen was
And his demise a celebration named.
So are we now declaring Time undone,
As though in joy his reckless onslaught cease;
Another circuit ‘round that haughty sun,
How many transits bring life to its’ knees?
Wherein lies hope within this revelry
When every passing year brings much the same?
And though we dream of providence to see,
Of equal stake, damnation there to blame:
Yet good or bad, whatever comes to pass,
On thoughts of you, I’ll ever raise a glass.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.