Sonnet 526

On January 30, 2022September 9, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

My love for her, a passion born of ages,

A vow eternal to a sacred cause;

Within my heart such ardor roils and rages,

The might of which sweet Venus would give pause.

No mortal heart could ever love her more;

Each fiber of my being wracks in pain

At thought another she may more adore—

And my heart cast into eternal flame;

Yet from those depths, what heaven to beseech,

For love itself—at once both balm and blade?

The grasp of love too oft does fail the reach

And unrequited bears woe to the grave.

Still with my blood I pledge this burning troth…

‘Til every glim of hope, to hell be tossed.

Sonnet 525

On January 30, 2022September 9, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I know she loved me—yes of this I’m sure

And still in vile sin she did betray;

Yet of this trespass what is but the cure?

“You are forgiven”—this, perchance I’ll say;

Condemn my heart to bear the lasting scorn,

To dwell in silence through the aching years

Where sorrow’s night leaves both our spirits torn,

And sweetest dreams dissolve in bitter tears.

There is no future, no redeeming past:

This stands the time we met and dared to trust—

Yet in that time love drew its final gasp,

And all sweet ardor burned to ash and dust.

That was the hour for murder and for hate—

Now is the time to heal and vindicate.

Sonnet 524

On January 30, 2022September 9, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I weep when hollow victory songs are sung,

I weep the passing of all squandered days,

I weep for worthy projects left undone,

I weep for every word of hollow praise.

I mourn the love betrayed by dark deceit,

I mourn for friends lost to death’s endless night,

I mourn the march of seasons passing sweet,

I mourn the lack of wisdom in our sight.

What matters most is that the soul stay true—

No idle hand will know fair triumphs wrought;

False tongues will ever righteousness undo,

Success is not a conquest to be bought;

True honor lies in struggle and in pain—

While fortune’s gifts are empty, void and vain.

Sonnet 523

On January 30, 2022September 9, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I met with Wordsworth one embattled night

Where so I thought—his eyes, some rancor bore,

Perhaps of meter, not of words, his gripe…

Or that I just had matched his sonnet score.

We drank the sullied hours until the dawn

And there I learned what broke his noble pen;

It was his lovely Dora—heaven gone—

That razed him to the ranks of mortal men.

Some say he waned by age and pleurisy

But he confirmed it was a shattered heart

That so perplexed the Physics there to see

The growing pain from which he did depart.

He shook my hand and bade me soft farewell,

More of this congress…I shall never tell.

Sonnet 522

On January 30, 2022September 9, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

What was the magic that did touch my heart,

When first I gazed so softly in your eyes?

From that sweet hour, I knew we’d never part

Until the sun no more on earth should rise.

What was the essence that enthralled me there,

A glance, a smile, a touch, a gentle sigh?

A furtive look that caught unaware—

And left my soul to search and wonder why?

Love is a bond, no mortal eye can see,

Yet stronger than all trusses wrought by man;

A staunch conviction that shall ever be

Born out of ardor—and to always stand.

It is a promise made to outlast time;

The finest edict of the human mind.

Sonnet 521

On January 30, 2022September 9, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Of life’s true meaning, what can hope devise

To lead us through the span from birth to death;

What does the struggle of long years comprise—

Does providence so drive each sacred breath?

Some in this passage solely lust for fame

While yet for others, wealth’s the measured best.

The wicked choose decay and ruin to claim;

The good, to God’s benevolence lay quest.

The common man lives simply, day to day

Content to dream of better things to come;

Walking in peace along the humbler way,

Waiting for God to call his spirit home;

Yet all that truly counts, in final score—

Lies in the blood ahead, and that afore.

Sonnet 520

On January 12, 2022September 10, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

We are all different and yet still the same—

All cast within the mold of humankind;

Our differences, both blessing and a bane

That binds us fast, then sunder over time.

We shade in doubt thoughts we don’t understand,

Yet from these shadows, great truths will oft arise—

While groupthink there will strive to countermand

The crucial sparks creative minds devise.

We scorn the truths our reason fails to grasp,

And many sweeping visions are maligned;

Yet when impossibles from whims amass—

How obvious the course! How clear the find!

We swiftly judge by rules we can’t define—

All men are equal, yet some still deemed, divine.

Sonnet 519

On January 12, 2022September 11, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

So may I praise what fortune has bestowed,

And all the blessings that befell me here;

Yet mourn I still the prizes once I sought,

That slipped my grasp—oh bounty once held dear!

It is but nature still to crave for more

Well knowing that indulgence is a sword—

And double-edged, it may the soul still score,

There in success, the spirit, sadly gored.

What gain is found by gorging to excess,

Or loving more than one pure heart should dare,

Or wielding wealth to flaunt in proud largesse,

Or chasing fame beyond what truth would bear?

The greater good lies in the humbler treasure,

As heaven’s sun burns bright in tempered measure.

Adieu

On January 12, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Here I lie without a frown,

Not facing up but facing down;

Should you find this humorless

Please drop in and plant a kiss.

Sonnet 518

On January 12, 2022September 10, 2025 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I write these lines beneath the sting of tears

Peine forte et dure weighs upon my breast;

Scant hope remains, within these gnawing fears—

An agony that only death may rest.

You chose to leave, and left me here alone,

As winter’s pallor veiled the ashen sky

While chimney smoke bowed low to winds that moan

In solemn deference to forsaken cries.

For what remains when Heaven’s light is gone,

When stricken prayers beseech stern ears of stone?

The tarot ten of swords here rudely drawn,

And I lie prostrate, on misfortune thrown.

A prisoner bound, condemned to meet my death—

Yet still your servant to my final breath.

	Steven on Sonnet 556
	julesbikepoems on Sonnet 404
	Meramolin B. on Sonnet 414
	Thalena on In Black and White
	pairunoyd on A Thought

	Steven on Sonnet 556
	julesbikepoems on Sonnet 404
	Meramolin B. on Sonnet 414
	Thalena on In Black and White
	pairunoyd on A Thought

Loubert S Suddaby poems

Month: January 2022

Sonnet 526

Sonnet 525

Sonnet 524

Sonnet 523

Sonnet 522

Sonnet 521

Sonnet 520

Sonnet 519

Adieu

Sonnet 518