A rusted meter leans a sentinel there

A rusted meter leans, a sentinel there,

its face cracked and weathered, indifferent to time.

I dig in my pockets, for change to declare,

but come up with shadows and debts that can’t climb.

The air feels heavy, each second a cost,

with numbers that tick down, as life slips away.

In the dull afternoon light, I feel something lost,

a reminder of choices that won’t ever stay.

I stand by the curb, watch the minutes unspool,

a reminder that time always marches alone.

The weight on my chest—life’s expensive, it’s cruel,

but this meter just counts, like a heart made of stone.