Sonnet 585

Love is a promise written in thin air
Not scribed in ink or yet on graven stone,
Sweet slender lines of might beyond compare
Surviving here all vellum, slate and bronze.
It is a tenet pledged on hope in time
As though enacted by proud scriven words
To stay a mystic maxim locked in kind,
By lettered rendering, hearts and souls immured.
Yet what I write  for you here matters not,
Your essence shuns the reach of mortal hand
And though I strive, I ever grasp but naught;
What hand supine to God yet holds the wind?
Love is a covenant graved in Heaven’s blue
That I here breathe and still by breath hold true.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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