Crescent Poem by Naveed Khalid

I, too, can visit far-off places,
away from what to my mind still
a man-in-the-moon,
amidst the living memories of past woe,
made new by old day's rhetoric,
that early morning star!
has but first look in the sun
to a vanished eye;
and e'ery pouring shadow
from a bowl of stars to drink,
of ages that are dead
through yellow pages of history,
my love in seraph wings of gold,
oft blind of looks so fair by holy night;
e'erything that grows to eternal bliss
under the Archangel's brow,
the hand that writ of wanton looks this world,
at the gallows of thy feet,
thy gilded monument astounds.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Tuesday, June 24,2014 11: 27: 58 AM