A Witch Hunting Poem by Naveed Khalid

Me all too weird of ill-fetched schemes
in hallucination of the mind,
of strangled looks from out of proportion,
be but defunct heart's halloween,
o'erwhelmed by morning's pure serene,
day's that are gone in my bed of
crimson joy, so fairly lost scope
of e'ery loving grace thy most high deserts;
her muse still in argument with thee;
against the setting sun my shipwrecked dreams,
tinged with star of old, that fair youth
in whose age-old love, unawares of the world
around my head, poisoned of an ear
in the corn field, of laurel wreath
thy myrtle crown, besmeared with time,
e'ery flower upon a barren heath;
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words,
beside the oak, a desert titan,
in haystack and straw, under the canopy
of a hut, thy iron car at Matilda's farm
tolls the bell at my door of rosemary garden,
while musing o'er the dale in silent hours
of soliloquy,
of way too far a golden clime on top of the tree,
I behold first frost of falling winter snow.

(C)Naveed Khalid

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All Rights Reserved.


Date Created: Wednesday November 30,2016.5: 21 PM

Title Revised: From A Y2K Bug To A Witch Hunting (ADHD)