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 very edge of doom;
I feel that I could bear it if I knew,
That on the morrow 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 tides;
‘Tis merely thinking such that makes things so.
No favorite plays he with 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 Time is just;
Majestic mountains are tomorrow’s 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.

Could I but choose to wait a century;
I am quite certain I should never find,
A friendship like the one you’ve shared with me—
The endless smiles, the selfless thoughts so kind.
What quirk of fate did cause our paths to cross,
Joined joy and sorrow in a love’s embrace,
And then as though ’twere but a pitch and toss,
Some crass mischance should such a love disgrace.
Thus have we shared a dance in life’s great ball,
And felt our heart fires kindle, burn and die—
Two granite monuments destined to fall;
Like rivers which with time will hence run dry.
How can cruel fate such sorrow have unfold
And let me touch that which I cannot hold.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If mortal mind has strength to transcend time
In words transcribed in ink or rigid stone;
Then shall your visage live etched in this rhyme,
If beauty might in words like this be told.
If I could capture all the youth in spring,
The freshness of a year of dew clad morns,
The warmth that home and hearth in winter bring,
And scents that in a thousand roses burn.
If I could fix your image perfectly—
If quill or chisel could enshrine your worth;
Then could my case challenge eternity,
And in these lines your beauty gain new berth.
It is my hope, my love, that this be true,
And in my verse your image shine anew.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

When endless tedium obscures life’s plan
And veils tomorrow in grey drudgery,
The hands that once held hope now sift the sand
And faithful hearts now labor sullenly.
The vacant eyes then greet the morning light
And sup on boredom’s broth and bitter bread,
While chains of yesterday our futures blight
As onward to our destiny we tread.
When life’s monotony assumes this state
And drowns out joy in deep and dark despair,
The once proud mind reflects and ruminates
Its fall from grace—its journey most austere.
Yet thoughts of you my love, my spirits swell…
And lacking this, no sorrow could I quell.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

You wear your years so well, my love, you know—
Three decades hence, yet still you seem a child;
But time like rivers ever onward flow—
Perhaps in love ones’ eyes are then beguiled.
No earthly flower could hold its bloom as you,
Against the seasons wear of wind and sun;
When other beauty lies in wrinkled ruin,
Your fairest lease shall then have just begun.
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty” it has been said;
Perhaps this then explains the present state
Where your fair smile is but your truth expressed,
And not some mortal hue enslaved to fate;
If this be such, this question may arise—
Is beauty truth that time can turn to lies?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I should have known when I first saw you there
Against the backdrop of that summer morn,
That soon my soul would drown in sweet despair
And languish in your wake, in sorrow torn;
But how could I have known it then, my love—
Your velvet hand would one day crush my heart
Where once it held my spirit high above
And stayed all sorrow like some sound rampart.
What casualty could curdle sweetest dreams
And callously fond human hope despise?
What chance could tarnish all that future gleams
And cast true love into this sad demise?
Still, if I had known then what I know now—
Again unto that magic would I bow.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Though years and miles may wedge between two friends,
Resigning heartfelt thoughts to quiet lines;
The truest love such barriers transcend
As though ’twere but the merest mark in time.
Long winters and dark nights mar not the hope
That strengthens with the passing of each hour,
And lonely fools in blindness often grope
When guided not by love’s enduring power.
Thus though vast distance holds us two apart
And cruel time may dim fond memory,
Your sterling truth shall ever clasp my heart
And soothe my restless soul eternally—
‘Tis for such truth I hold you still on high;
And for such truth you know that I would die.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

When I have wrung the sweetness from my youth
And gained the wisdom earned from passing days,
Sad knowledge should then outweigh naive truth
With which upon the world I once did gaze.
Then may I bid farewell to childhood grace
That once adorned the world in fantasy,
And welcome then instead the moveless face
—Of life beleaguered in reality.
For misspent youth I then shall make defense
And proudly show the pearls such years have gleaned,
And in so doing then make recompense
For reckless strife that marred my younger schemes.
Glad folly can enlighten, this believe—
But that which pleases heart, the soul may grieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

What right have I to feel I was betrayed
When fate and time and chance must have their due?
In truth, no promise ever there was made
That joined us in a bond as one, not two;
And have I then the right to grieve my loss?
To bathe myself in self-reproaching woe?
When casualty has tarnished future gloss,
And not deceit—for still your heart is gold.
Yet your fair face did rob me of sound sight
And made glad hope transcend reality,
And misinterpretation was my plight,
Believing of you what I chose to see.
Yet for such error why should I then be sad,
And weep for loss of that I never had?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.