Bodkin Or Disease Poem by Naveed Khalid

No, not least be of use in less travelled time,
of curvature's post at a glance this world,
half-measured looks at a distance from afar
e'ery loving grace to my shipwrecked dreams
by some spurious reasoner's mind,
me myself to reveal where there is none!
piled under the heavy books,
cured of senses numb in favour with the star
of thy most high deserts in the late evening:
hung aloft the ghastly night in rosemary garden,
of fealty's Apollo at my door her stumbled feet,
like to the lark at break of day arising in morning's pure serene,
stains the sky with glorious days thy gracious muse,
a broccoli, beneath the bed of crimson joy,
no dark can e'er illumine that man-in-the-moon,
away from heaven's high bower, needest not I
to count in prayers thy blessings more beside the oak,
than of eyes so blind e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
in whose love under the Archangel's brow,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown, more be to serviceable men,
ages that are dead upon the sand dunes thy pelted grave,
heaven-ward bent thy iron car at matilda's farm.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Thursday, February 25,2016 3: 55: 31 PM
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