Sonnet 583

Do not apologize for the wrath of Time
For every countenance his blade shall score;
Each visage born of flesh, though once sublime,
By siege of life shall feel that ruthless sword.
What battle grand does not bestow it’s scars
Where staunchest ardor did by heart propel,
What greater proof of undiminished war
Than marks and mars detailing glorious hell?
For of such passage where’s the proof of strife
If cherub faces blazoned struggles waged,
Detailing full pained vagaries of life
And how they triumphed proudly o’er that rage.
Unblemished faces here shall court despise,
For victors seldom sport soft beauty’s guise.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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