Should I awake tomorrow and find you gone—
Forever fled from reach of hand or eye,
Like silken mists which can obscure the sun
And vanish in the wake of azure sky.
Could I be sure that you were ever here?
That once upon a time my life you graced?
That you were flesh and blood I held so near,
And not some blissful angel chance displaced?
For what could reassure me of such truth—
Persuade me it was not but hopeful dreams,
Nor yet some playful, though still cheerless ruse
That wishful mind conspired with memory?
Thus would my state be such if you should leave,
And I be left to wonder, more than grieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.

As men and ages slowly fade to dust,
And worldly countenance gives way to change;
In wayward youth we place tomorrow’s trust,
While aged men look on in silent rage.
When facing where the arc of life is bound—
Where lies the wisdom of our yesteryears?
Why should the pace of time our hope impound?
Or rapid change fill rigid mind with fear?
That wisdom comes with age is often told,
But with it come restricted vision too;
‘Tis youth that spawns tomorrow’s righteous old,
And in so doing, stirs old strife anew;
Thus through the course of time this story wends,
To but begin again before it ends.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.

When autumn’s heavenly alchemy
Does gild with gold the hues of summer past;
Fond memories of you return to me,
As I recount the joining of our paths.
I still recall the softness of your eyes;
The cascades of your lustrous raven hair;
In reverie you’re ever by my side—
In nightly dreams, you lie beside me there.
Truth, honesty and beauty fused in one—
A countenance of porcelain so fine;
A fairer flower never kissed the sun—
A rarer treasure, never could be mine.
What can a fool, in ink, attempt to do,
But pay tribute to an angel fair as you.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.

The thorn-crown worn by youth is wizened age,
Which righteous life or fickle chance bestow.
Though golden youth in time becomes the sage,
‘Cross Styx or pearly gate he still must go.
Yet what’s the gift when time hath stayed death’s hand—
A stooped-back frame, a cane, a toothless grin?
Too oft men deem that such a state is grand,
Till time’s harsh test leaves all their hopes chagrined.
When years transform bright eyes to dullest pearl,
And frailty creeps deep in every bone—
Is this the prize life’s promises unfurl,
When each must meet his destiny alone?
Perhaps ’tis but time’s wish to humble man,
And have him crawl, not march to meet his end.

©Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.

Blissful sleep, drown me in the warmth of night,
Disperse my troubles ‘midst the twinkling stars;
And all that wretched day has wronged set right,
Then float me to some distant tranquil shore.
Let darkness rob me of my memory,
Conjure instead kaleidoscopes of dreams
That bear me to a land of fantasy,
Where I can rest on silver-soft moonbeams.
Gentle sleep, quench the thirst of weariness
And rock me in the cradle of your arms;
Immerse me in the depths of peacefulness
And mock death’s shadow with your potent charms.
Dearest sleep, you are like the finest wine—
Which when quaffed deeply, serves to soothe the mind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Should tedious days mock me to the end,
And mar my future with impoverished strife;
Should leaden burdens cause my back to bend,
And tortured turmoil haunt my every night;
Should darkest hours like a decade be,
And every winter last a thousand years;
Each second be an eon’s agony,
And every moment hold a billion fears—
Should heaven’s brightest orb surcease to shine,
And wretched clouds forever mask the moon,
Should dark despair devour all my time,
And stalk me to the crumbling edge of doom;
I feel that I could bear it if I knew,
That came the morning, I would be with you.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.

So many minds have contemplated Time,
And one day dubbed him fast, the next day slow,
Yet each knows he’s as constant as the tide—
‘Tis merely thinking such that makes things so.
He plays no favorite with us mortal things…
The tortoise and the hare each have their hour,
And like as such the changing seasons bring,
Both life and death to every living flower—
For Time’s not fast or slow—but he is just;
Majestic mountains shall be future sand,
And in such changing we may place our trust—
The vastest oceans are tomorrow’s land.
So come then, take my hand and walk with me,
And in proud step we’ll mock eternity.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.

These many years together, hand in hand,
We’ve walked along love’s long and winding shore—
Through cloud and sun, both beautiful and grand;
By God’s own witness—I could love no more.
Life is a journey, fleeting in its span,
And much we chase along that winding way
Proves but vain dross that veils a higher plan—
A day of rain foretokens brighter days.
The richest life is one that two can share;
A sunset glows more splendid seen by two;
Love is the warm embrace of souls who care—
Who’d give their life, as I would give to you…
You are God’s grace, His breath of life in me,
A sacred light I cherish, endlessly.

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.

Dear Dylan, have another drink with me
Before we slam the apple towns once more,
And wring from life all truth and sweetness free
As arm in arm we sing our bawdy lore.
No frown from heaven shakes our roaring form,
No smile from hell can cloud these peerless joys;
‘Neath starlit skies our tweeds hang passion-torn—
None rob the mirth from dreaming, drunken boys.
Dull lamps within the pub fend off the night,
And I find strength to tip a shining glass.
Around us, creeping shadows dim the light—
Oh, that this blithesome eve might ever last!
I raised my drink to toast the raging moon…
Then looked around—and found that you were gone.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.