Sonnet 229

Why should I pander to sad critics lame
There to some unnamed failure beg my worth,
For where in lines of rhyme shine forth their fame,
What treasured musings might yet give them berth?
Why suffer censure from some petty pen
That sees no color in another’s ink,
Damning proud verse that may there be arraigned
For adjudged slights from lines they could n’er think?
Why pageant skill to mediocrity,
Or ask opinion from a biased heart?
How can a dullard yet with brilliance see
Where jealousy black shadow does impart?
Let bards be judged by words they fairly writ
And not by fools that never penned a whit.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 228

Though eyes may never scan these worthless lines
And tongues may never speak the words they hold,
Though heaven will not bless, this hope may find
Some paltry reverence as a story old.
Surviving as some parchment from this age
Perhaps requiring translation to explain,
Desiring to some distant soul engage,
And touch what human vestiges remain.
Once, lost in time, a man a beauty loved
And he did love her with a force supreme,
But yet his troth to her could not be proved
And she a mighty truth forthwith demeaned.
What matters to a love that lasts all time,
If it be etched in unrequited rhyme?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 227

No, I had not prepared myself for Death
Although I knew that he would one day knock
Upon the door of life; I felt his breath
When the door opened, a clammy shock
Yet I welcomed him in and poured a glass;
He drank it down looking suitably grim.
So who have you come for today, I asked;
Why your father, of course, I’ve come for him-
But he is far too young, I did protest,
His meager life has fairly just begun;
That matters not to me he did confess,
I claim them all, those souls, both old and young;
But no, not him! Not him! I did implore-
He took him by the hand….and closed the door.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 226

I did not watch them shovel dirt on him
After he was laid in the cold dark earth,
The surrounding faces seemed so wan and grim,
Staring at the epilogue of life’s worth.
Though hymns were sung, were none I do recall,
No words of the preacher rang clear, no none;
Someone mumbled something, and tears did fall,
With blank heaven above, and a wizened sun
Looking down on black ants, that moved in mime.
I recall only sadness that day in June,
And many cheeks bleached by hot sweat and brine,
A grey world with voices all out of tune-
A feckless orb in an amorphous sky
And eyes bled red when all the grief ran dry.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 225

I found a path forged through a nameless wood,
Overgrown from seldom travel, yet still clear,
Where man or beast of purpose surely could
Still plumb those depths of claustrophobic fear.
Though bramble choked and dark, it still called out
To dauntless travelers that might give it heed,
Where every step it’s thronging weeds did flout
And passage there did girdling green impede.
What purpose then did such a trail once serve,
And for such service, who would blaze it there?
To navigate those depths, what might I learn
Of unnamed motive lost to disrepair?
Would journey such to sate a curious mind
So justify the thorns there sure to find?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 224

These tears of ink fall silent on my page,
Scribing my pallid face in crooked lines;
That well of ink, of depths no pen could gauge,
No words there writ could yet this grief confine.
‘Tis here my heart spills out in blackened stain
Now worn in blemished smudges on my sleeve,
And at my desk a crumpled man remains,
A soul bereft of why you chose to leave.
There is no god above, no god stands tall;
Or if there is, he chooses not to hear
A suffering love torn man who gave his all
And cherished so, the one his heart held dear;
Still I implore blank heaven in sorrowed ink,
As love and life in hopelessness now sink.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 223

What riches so to be immersed in thought,
And in deep thinking, shift these thoughts to you,
Forgetting thus the battles that I’ve fought,
Immersed in carefree peace you bring me to;
Then can I smile as you in visions dance,
And at your pleasure, hold you close to me,
So ‘round the ballroom of my mind we prance,
Uplifting hearts in joyful frivolity;
There in your eyes I see a precious truth,
And in your voice I hear delightful sounds,
Your body’s warmth, my essence so does sooth,
My soul in playful gaiety abounds:
What wealth a simple thought of you can bring,
That even heavied heart can romp and sing!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 222

Where are you now, my sweet, where are you now?
Child of pleasure, fair fugitive from truth;
What have you reaped of sinful seeds there sown,
That field oft ploughed, but bearing little fruit;
Times judgement passed, has it been cruel or kind?
Are you still held a prisoner of your glass,
Numbering there in tears each time worn line,
Curtly executing each pallid tress?
I mourn for you, though not for loss thereof,
I am quite sure that you mourn not for me;
How could I move a heart immured in lust,
Vainglorious soul, forever so to be?
One heart was n’er enough to sate your needs:
Pure love is truth, borne not by words, but deeds.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Odds Couple

Life is such a fleeting fancy,
Measured ‘gainst the wick of time;
Think about a one chance meeting,
Leading to a love sublime.

If pure chance, I still can’t fathom
How the odds brought you to me,
All the stars in all the heavens,
How is it so meant to be?

Be it yet the gods above us,
Let them hear my glad reply,
Ardent thanks is not enough
For this love shall e’re abide.

If blind fate, then I still wonder,
Who or what or why and how,
Two hearts so can join together
In one perfect here and now?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 221

When April’s blossoms in your cheeks have turned
Into the withered blight of blooms past prime;
When youth’s proud pyre into cold ashes burn,
And graceful poise now bends ‘neath heavied time;
When auburn tints give way to sullied snow
And bright eyes sink in shadows dappled grey,
When months and weeks and days all faster flow,
Gilt memories oft into the minds’ eye stray.
‘Tis then, perchance, your thoughts will turn to me,
Remembering so bold brash love without peer,
A heart as large and constant as the sea,
A truth that stood your guardian without fear;
And as you bask in golden memories deep,
Mourn love a fickle heart could never keep.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.