A Golden Age Poem by Naveed Khalid

See! how e'ery flower upon a barren heath hath weaved
The subtle thread of thought too dear to my reckoning days,
Thy hideous form of so scant my resources to fill the page,
To my mind still of another rent at midnight lease;
That to my decaying form abides by a hundred mouthed grave,
Oft unattended by thy presence of love so blind,
Not least in precise measure to count I against my adversaries;
Where more is less than beauty's belligerent smile,
Hid away from out of sight in blushed roses!
Of that forfeited dark by what I write, enwrought with thy star:
Much too rendered in age-old grey his enlightened brow of worn-out time,
Perhaps else compounded in mortal clay my haggard bones,
This world of ages that are dead by my vain endeavour,
All but sans teeth, sans eyes, sans e'erything ere thine unweird eye.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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* Title Revised: From A Golden Age