Demoniacal Ii Poem by Naveed Khalid

A hermit, that in whose canopy of a hut this world
of thy most high deserts,
leaves no scope that shows not half thy part
away from e'ery departed look to my shipwrecked dreams
in the backyard of rosemary garden;
e'ery fig leaf in autumn of furrowed fields by the west
o'er the horizon in deep azure you hide from eternals,
under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree no dark can e'er illumine:
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words that man-in-the-moon,
oft sits still brooding o'er the dale with pen-pricked angels;
of fealty's Apollo at my door under the Archangel's brow,
all wrapped in shroud of a star when death's toll is too high,
beside the bed of oak in the late evening,
ah, but to think thee better off my mind, my love,
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time thy chiseled bones,
that crow on wings, on wings thy gilded monument astounds.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All RIghts Reserved.

Date Created: Thursday, January 14,2016 9: 21: 56 PM
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