The Times Of Love Poem by Naveed Akram

Let love be sized as silence folding out,
Lose that that love is solved like air and ice,
My fence is fed in floods of tears with clout,
This blackness buys us time with one device.

My love is cold and white, less by himself,
The souls have art, the souls have tarts serene,
They have the colour of that man Randolph,
His girl is late, when some play tambourine.

A meeting has then been, with figurine,
The same has been, the love of those bewitched;
One fights an Alexander that is clean,
His frown is dry, with war saying you twitched.

The loving man who seeks to know the lame
Is kingly like those damned by a real claim.