Time's Slow Corrosion

In the park, an old bike rusts, chains softly creak,

a hymn of neglect sung to those who won’t speak.

Once bright in the sun, now dulled to a hue,

draped in decay, like my memories of you.

The faded paint clings to the metal with pride,

remnants of laughter, where we used to ride.

Each patch of orange bleeds into the gray,

whispers of youth drifting further away.

I think of the summers, the ways we felt free,

while time like that rust creeps inside of me.

A heart once vibrant, now fragile like dust,

dust of our dreams, worn and coated in rust.