My Virtue

My virtue is sick like magic,
It defines acute and obvious ability;
My view dances in my eyes,
Little lovers of mine, little colours
That are yellow and green
If I am a child.
This child in me is greater than my heart
In old age,
For we believe in the sorting out of dumbness,
The getting of solutions and heartiest of secrets,
These are answers of venom, too greater than pies.
We eat them more like shapes that taste,
But my view is disrupted and I finish.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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