A Pigsty Of Meatballs Poem by Naveed Khalid

Not e'er this world of battered things shall ope
a garden unto Erin's gate,
elsewhere but to find full glorious days
of fair weather spring,
against e'ery passer-by looks through the window
of thine holy eyen, her night-long love,
enlightened by the sweat of thy brow,
beside the oak, the setting sun at my door:
some dry leaves still weigh the air in autumn
of thy book, goes unchecked by the west wind,
entomb'd within my shipwrecked dreams;
yet past woe's eclipsed doom to bloody
tyrant time, away from high heavens
this clock in whose fell hand, far from the maddening
crowd that darkened earth's infernal grove,
awhile but to think on thee in silent hours of soliloquy;
above the dale, the eagle on wings, on wings took me o'er,
me not myself to claim thy most high deserts
upon the sand dunes, the sea of veneral amores
drains my blood out of veins, ere my feathered pen hath writ
in deep sorrows of silver angels in age-old gray,
this embassage of wayfarer's clime, a broccoli,
down the lane in amberwoods, rest content be obliviion
of a host among daffodils; pricked with such lichens of desire,
Santa's mini skirt of a dragon skin at clover-beach,
makes my heart sink in stony ripples of soring
thumb impressions, small minions from off thy ancient lyre,
my deeds to pry, half-so-ill distempered brain
of her persistent cries among waded lots of wonton mire,
of plucked parsley e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
remains but a drag of supended consciousness
thy iron car at Matilda's farm, of laurel wreath
thy myrtle crown in my bed of crimson joy,
thy gilded monument astounds under the canopy of a hut.

(C)Naveed Khalid

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All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Monday, August 21,2017.5: 48 PM
* Title Revised: From A Pitsty of Meat Balls To A Black Chicken

* Area: dream_ similar:

* Cos theta