Rust

The bike sits in the yard, chains heavy with time,

a rusted reminder of dreams that once seemed to climb.

It was meant for the summer, a journey, a quest,

but life twisted paths, left it idle, distressed.

Sunlight catches each crevice, an ugly delight,

where once there was motion, now echoes of flight.

Beauty in ruin, the story it tells,

about how all our visions can wear like old shells.