Old Wheels

In the corner of shadows, an old bike lays still,

a rusted reminder of adventure and thrill.

Each scrape of metal, a whisper from years,

a echo of laughter, now coated in fears.

I brush off the dust, with fingers like ghosts,

tracing the paths of a life that’s now lost.

This frame used to carry my dreams on two wheels,

now it stands silent, its history sealed.

The paint peels away, like memories fade,

yet here in this moment, those moments invade.

I stand in the silence, a bridge to the past,

where time’s a thief, but the rust’s built to last.