Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ron Gavalik Nov 2017
"Running out the clock"
is maybe the most common term
in American working life.
Trapped, financially imprisoned
between four walls of servitude
on a late Friday afternoon,
we wait impatiently
for our parole from the crimes
our owners regularly commit.
When a potter raise crunch
though with a hunch
soon will be a bystander
they eye a ricochet cyst
round skin that summon Alexander
the glaze cleave an arm
and this idle their crafts
let inside hand again stroll  
that wing a cafe by night
and purpose their hutch
still in a penitentiary
near a dock by parliament it charm
an aft-glow where melancholy
heart departing the moon
here yet a parole by noon
though still it ample tonight
with auxiliary light it toll
but debt show this dolor
they won't tolerate anymore.
My love is so innocent that she carries her heart in her eyes
Light of galaxies of stars surrounds her I can easily recognize
Land kisses her feet ,glowing cheeks are touched by the skies
Love and beauty are chained from the beginning in love ties

The words fail when I appreciate your beauty as a real lover
Only my emotions and sentiments make my heart ,soul stir
For silly questions of the world I do not just have any answer
Love is strange thing either one takes to the gallows or to altar

Light of God travels in man in the shape of real ordained soul
Man being chained in fine love strings only plays his real role
He is like a deserter from paradise being on temporary parole
From pace to pace ,pole to pole strangeness prevails as a whole

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

— The End —