The Golden Gold Poem by Naveed Akram

Rich in grandeur, an echoing confines my thinking,
Never is decomposed tunnel a likely refuge for the late.
My age is grander than the solid mountain, this time
Is completely at odds with natural nature, a nature too rich.
My fence is built by the man called Gold, and the man
Silver quenches his thirst at my River, the oldest adult.

Am I not richer than the fountain of old and gold?
My spilling is beautiful, like the death of a thousand suns.
My tunnel is your friend and foe, your woe and vice,
It is to be conquered by an inventor of gold and silver.
The alchemists display their arts in one physics lesson,
Towards the leaving of this ancient frame we enter one night.