Lost In Love

Lost being, nearly the height of crow’s flight,
You are indignant, as if you are angry of sight.
Still beautiful, this lost meaning is gathered,
The dyes of youth becalm us afterward.
As dark as stormy weather, the soul of evil must die,
So that we station our belongings in new love and cry.
A doubt remains, however, of a heated hatred,
Is it the middle of love, or just good feeling accented?
Lost is your loving nature, lost are crown and robe,
Lulling spectators, the courtiers of the majestic globe.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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