A Lover's Vision

A mettle rusted, made with custom stale, My talent’s sheen with circulation’s passed; A faultless ace in one’s own face may fail, So truth in beauty, beauty truth are cast. A work upon a hundredth scan grows old, And each successive glance does dim the gleam; My words, gems precious wrought, are costly sold, Once sharp, now blunt; my eyes false diamonds deem. But in this view, I’m happily reminded That through your pictured lens I’m tempered fresh; Your iris heralds me to me unblinded, A rainbow filter smelting steeling mesh. This old sword’s new when in your gaze I’m eyed: All else, say else; know not no naught they’ve lied.