Arbitrator Poem by Naveed Khalid

Oh, sir! you're but a stack of gold,
unearthed perchance if I may
thy goodly states run wild
in ecstasy of pure heaven,
some dry autumn leaves
of ages that are dead upon the sand dunes
against the setting sun,
my shipwrecked dreams of fair weather days
in the mellowing spring;
e'ery flower upon a barren heath
under the Archangel's brow, of wrinkled lip
in my spilt words,
her night-long love;
needest not in solemn or strain
this dull rhyme,
weary with toil my day's work expires
of freshly sown seeds,
ere I write them with much too
stressed out note, no heart can afford,
of darkened earth's infernal grove;
while musing o'er the dale at my door
of rosemary garden,
first frost of falling winter snow,
down the lane in amber woods,
of e'ery departed look in the late evening.

(C)Naveed Khalid

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All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Monday, November 07,2016.4: 11 PM

* Title Revised from A Rebel To Aliens or Arbitrator