Sonnet 518

I write this now amidst the sting of tears
Peine forte et dure now heavy on my breast;
Scant hope remains within these dreadful fears—
An agony no pain of death could best.
Yes, you have made the choice to leave me now,
Here with the pit of winter drawing nigh;
The slinking smoke from chimneys quats and bows
In deference to grey godforsaken skies.
For what remains when Heaven’s light is gone,
When strickened prayers beseech stern ears of stone?
The tarot ten of swords now seeming drawn
And I prostrate upon misfortune thrown.
A prisoner chained and sentenced here to death;
Yet still your servant to my final breath.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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