Beneath the Skin

The corrugated tin, a shield

against the sun and rain.

But underneath, a secret's sealed,

a slow, persistent stain.

The grey-white flaking, thin and dry,

a skin that gives no more.

Beneath it, rust, a hungry eye,

begins to creep and score.

An orange bleed, a tender wound,

where metal starts to fail.

A truth unearthed, a silent sound,

beyond the protective veil.

This shed, new house, the stark contrast,

a lesson understood.

What's built to last, can never last

exactly as it should.