Demoniacal Poem by Naveed Khalid

Of chiseled bones my heart needs no mending,
that through such unaccustomed looks,
weary with toil of passion worn,
speak not unto me of days that are gone,
else what future holds in all eternity to either's woe,
that mural beside, carved of stone thy iron frame,
oft on clover-tops but hangs a golden bow,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown:
if be made a garland of my head, I'll find myself no less than a king,
against e'ery looking eye this world of wanton tapestry at thy throne,
needest no witness in thy graceful ease, thy love to claim,
of what in heaven's high bower by the sweat of thy brow.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Wednesday, August 12,2015 9: 05: 12 PM