Sonnet 524

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 unearned praise.
I mourn for loss of love through rank deceit,
I mourn for friends lost to death’s somber night,
I mourn the march of seasons passing sweet,
I mourn the lack of truth in human sight.
What matters most is to the soul stay true,
No idle hand will know fair triumphs wrought;
False tongues will ever righteousness beshrew,
Success in not a conquest to be bought.
The honor lies in struggle and in pain
For chanced rewards are ill begotten gain.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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