The Martyr
My martyr was also an epicure as a rich man,
Bold are the epithets to describe him, all a ban.
The job epitomizes good goals and strong life,
An epoch of calamities and casualties that were rife.
My understanding is of a fetish that spoke alarmingly,
It became a fetid smell, a sensible touch was the ability.
Most of the hankering became a mission,
To intercede on behalf of the demon.
Festal reactions described him fully,
As the honeydew pleased him abdominally.
It is the largesse, it is the probity of good singing,
Underneath the grand sea, that inspired the abandoning.
You have naught as a martyr, elsewhere there is naught,
All is morbid, and the scaring is dwindling, to be fought.
I can evangelize the youth into goodness,
Yet my breathing is harassing me like an actress.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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