Rust Pattern

I walked where the buildings gave way

to weeds and the dying light of day.

The sun, a fading ember, low,

made diamonds out of rust, you know.

A diamond shape, a diamond chain,

holding back what would remain

unchecked, unseen. The tangled green

pushes through, a quiet scene.

No one comes here, no one sees

these rusted diamonds in the breeze.

Just the pattern, sharp and old,

a story that will not be told.