Yes you have been unfaithful, this is true
And so have I, to even yet the score;
Still now you’ve come to seek what we might do
To stay this damning fate we both abhor.
Sweet love upon the gallows seeming just,
Awaiting but the noose around her neck;
The sand bag run late giving solid trust
And now she stands in tears upon the deck.
But all sin pardoned, pray what might this do,
Commute our pain to life without parole
That every time your visage I may view,
Dark memories return to hate cajole?
No restitution would such sentence bring—
So drop the door and let that harlot swing.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
Loubert S Suddaby poems 