In the bottom of the jewelry box

In the bottom of the jewelry box,

under the tangle of old chains,

a penny, from 1978, it's lost

its shine, just dull, dark, rusty stains.

No longer bright, a fiery red,

but browned and black in places now.

A copper face, a king long dead,

a metal changed, I don't know how.

Just sitting there, for years and years,

the air itself, a slow decay.

It holds the weight of all my fears,

of things that simply fade away.

Not bright, not new, but something old,

a small, hard disk, its story told.