Sonnet 393

The forward view of life from youth is long
Assured in hope, abundant fruitful years;
From aged eyes such span seems but a song
That lingers on the lips of those held dear.
How can the passing time our brains beguile
That years confound to weeks and weeks to days?
Would but the suffered length of lover’s miles
Contract to measured inches in these ways.
No, Time’s hand serves but his stingy purposed own
And rare he grants beyond four score and ten, 
Bequeathing here at best on shackled loan
A bounty that will not be spent again.
I smile and gaze upon my child’s face
Where love and hope eternal, Time disgrace.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 392

Where is Sylvia, mystic maid of time
That for a moment reigned in passion pure,
Her shining praise full eyes once deemed sublime
Yet few did see that heart of love so sure?
The last I touched her, naked ‘neath the moon…
Her silken skin bathed in a lustrous light,
Slim arms askew as in a gentle swoon,
Strawberry lips soft parted in delight….
I faded from her chamber duty bound
Not knowing when I closed that shadowed door,
That I would there my sweetest love impound
And strive in search of truth forever more.
Though silver light may bathe all sylphs in kind—
No peace of heart until I Sylvia find.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 391

How would it bless you more if these dear words
Might linger in the misty thoughts of time,
Where those who ever do so read this verse
Shall feel your essence in each written line;
Would that they dwell not on the pen held hand
That writ this proof, save for the passion framed,
For sweet in truth, a dullard could command
Some fervent favored utterance beauty named.
In simplest sense they might my ardor note
Perhaps remarking, ‘who so drives this soul
To strive in wanting cursive and so dote
Upon some mythic maiden words can’t show’?
But even in doubt I find my saving grace
‘Mongst souls like me who’ve gazed upon that face.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 390

Rest now my eyes upon sweet Chanticleer,
That rugged shore where winds and waters greet
Intrepid souls that bear life’s pompous jeers,
Proud dauntless hearts downtrodden in defeat;
‘Tis here you’ll find light balms to wounds assuage
And ever still, sound refuge from the storm,
Though out beyond the lea, fierce battles rage,
This port of heart and hearth shall keep you warm.
Here now lift up a dram to spirits raise,
And hearten so spent voices into song
That in sound verse we bless in righteous praise
This rampart of the soul that I call home.
As long as wind and wave shall kiss this shore
So bides my essence here — forevermore.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 389

Ah Sylvia, dear nymph of gardens green
Too soon we squandered all the sweets of night;
Now in the east a rim of gold is seen,
That scimitar which is a lover’s blight;
What pain to have you rise from ‘twixt my arms
To stretch and yawn and shake your sleepy head,
There so to fair awaken all your charms
But in so doing heighten partings dread.
A brief respite with you beneath the stars
Seems but a gift that is from heaven sent,
No slight of day will yet this image mar
Though memory such may seem but yearnings dreamt.
Daylong I tread as though upon the air,
For fain at dusk, I’ll hold sweet Sylvia fair.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 388

The golden light of summer’s torch succumbs
Each day retreating more to southern shore;
In marched progression, lessening the sum
Of gilded promise that the springtime bore.
Now leaving darkness longer time to play
And bold Orion stalking through the night
With club upheld in endless search for prey
And sweet Merope ever in his sight.
So Ursus Major yields to hibernate
As winter’s grip lays siege upon the land
And too does autumn’s burgeoned bounty wait
To fill up cornucopias least and grand.
Thus is it now, and ever may it be;
The sun, the earth, the stars…and you and me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 387

Love’s greatest merit lies in constancy,
That simple strength that bests the rot of time
And weathers all the blight there is to be,
Surviving yet the worst of mortal crime;
Believing she will triumph come what may
Despite the darkness damning fortune metes—
In this the truest heart will sure allay
The wretchedness that foul fate accretes.
As morning sun gives hope to savaged earth,
As gentle rain breeds life from barren ground,
As precious souls bestir in hallowed birth,
So in abiding rhythm is truth found.
In measured cadence love plays out its course
Against all odds, though they be blessed or cursed.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 386

Do what you will, and may you bide in shame;
Dishonor every promise ever made,
Let each dear nuptial utterance burn in flame
As you in lust your very worth corrade.
The sweetest angel may yet fall from grace
So may you thrive in second circled hell
Where I forever see your anguished face
Stare up in pain from that infernal well.
Perdition granted, you may take your leave,
Smug Satan waits for you beside the gate —
Loss of true heart your soul may yet bereave;
There is no time to dwell on love or hate.
Go then you must for he now beckons you:
A smile discreet, the devil has his due.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 385

My nighttime muse has left me so it seems
Though passioned fire still smolders in my breast,
While silver moonlight buoys your face in dreams
To taunt my fervor with a visage blessed;
Black alchemy has turned my pen to lead —
What demon dare deny sweet voice of mind?
Where lies that nectar that  proud ardor fed,
What dram shall coax parched lips of praise to rhyme?
I sit in silence swaddled by the night,
No need to lay my thoughts on paper down,
Your spirit dancing with me in my sight
That I entranced will view until harsh dawn;
Yet if my muse is gone, no more to see …
We’ll dance at dusk wherever you might be.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 384

Then march forever onward wicked Time,
Carrying the world with you to it’s doom;
And n’er look back upon your vile crimes
As you stride ever forward to your tomb.
May lines of purposed truth your story tell
To chronicle the worth there razed to ruin;
Of good or evil that your blade befell:
Sad effigies of hope lie callous strewn.
Relentless, obligate, cruel, unconcerned
Here always  true unto your tyrant vows,
Determined to destroy, all beauty burned—
Charred relics of the past to but avow.
From forth a fire scoured plain emotes a flower;
‘Midst tears of rain, fair proof of beauty’s power.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.