Sonnet 459

Of all the lines I’ve written in my hour,
May these your eyes in privacy engage,
Not that this verse serve trope of proffered flower,
But more as truth in tears upon this page.
For me you have defined what true love is
In times of passion and in perilous doubt—
When all seemed lost, your gentle heart gave bliss
And sweet impromptu smiles drove shadow out.
Without your essence what would my life be…
A sad procession of proud worried days,
A strained bravado bent on odysseys 
In quest of honors false and worthless praise?
I penned this to rhythm of my heart
That we remain as one, and never part.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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