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 poems