Rust Armor

Iron bent by years and weather,

splashes of orange bloom

on cold gray bars.

Once bare metal, now a crust

that hardens, cracks,

but holds.

Rust does not fold like dust;

it steels against the rain’s slow bite,

turning decay to armor,

a stubborn skin that won’t give in.

Sunlight fractures on rough edges,

giving life to decay’s stubborn grin.

Here, corrosion is not weakness —

a shield,

rough, scarred,

refusing to disappear.