Corrosion of Time

I unearthed an old wrench from the shed today,

surface rusted, where bright metal once lay.

The oxidation tells tales of neglect and decay,

as layers of time steal the shine from the clay.

Once it was sharp, a tool full of might,

now dulled and forgotten, shrouded in night.

Each flake that falls speaks of things left alone,

an echo of purpose now turned to stone.

I hold it and wonder, what else have I lost?

In the rush to move forward, what has it cost?

Things once held dear slowly drift into air,

like moments we cherish, but rarely lay bare.

Yet in this decay, there’s a beauty unspun,

a reminder that even rusted things run,

that time wears us down, like tools left behind,

but each mark, each crease tells a story refined.