A Safe Haven

Me feels much tired of waiting
for thy love,
soft tendrils that grow and wither
in time's waste,
of haystack and straw e'ery flower
upon a barren heath,
of thought so insidious this world
against the setting sun at my door
of rosemary garden:
that hides from eternals so fairly lost scope
of days that are gone,
in my bed of crimson joy, a broccolli,
of way too far a golden clime,
beside the oak, a hawthorn, pricked with
a furr coat in the cellar-barn;
tempest beats of unnerved blood
in vein, her eyes be wet with
pen-pricked angels, by jove,
a star hath lent at midnight lease
under the bolted sky,
thick dark night outspread
in leaves of autumn,
down the lane in amber woods,
first frost of falling winter snow,
my shipwrecked dreams!
of veneral amores runs in deep sorrows,
that weighs the air,
while musing o'er the dale,
the eagle on wings, on wings
by the western isle,
small minions that arise
from dust-cover'd page of thy book,
shall someday be raised above the mundane,
of darkened earth's infernal grove,
full fathom-five thy battled bones
hath salt of seven seas;
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words
upon the sand dunes,
her muse still in argument with thee:
sticks out his head like a soring
thumb impression,
this imprint of thine holy eyen:
indeed! by thatch-eaves is run
in wild ecstasy of pure heaven,
the heart that fed in nurslings
of immortality,
among a thousand roses, farewell!

(C) Naveed Khalid

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All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Saturday, December 10,2016.3: 19 PM

by Naveed Khalid

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