Elegy for the Rusted

Elegy for the Rusted

Upon the iron’s weary face,

Where time has left its jagged mark
Rust sprawls like a memory’s trace
A bitter truth beneath the dark.

Once proud beams of metal, strong,

Now corrode beneath a tainted sky
Their glow is lost, a mournful song
As change devours and winds defy.

In the hushed decay of silent halls,

Where echoes of past glory fade
Rust is a specter that recalls
The constant shift, the grand parade.

Old structures groan in the wind’s embrace,

Their steel once fierce, now fragile, thin
Yet in their grime, a hidden grace
A lesson wrapped in rusted skin.

We grieve for things that fall away,

Their former selves a ghostly blur
But in their decay, the truth does sway
That change alone is sure and pure.

So let the iron’s mournful cry,

Be the anthem of our fleeting days
For rust is proof that we must try
To welcome change in all its ways.

The future’s carved in crumbling steel,

Its texture rough, its essence bold
Embrace the shift, let the heart heal
For time’s great hand will never fold.

Beneath the tarnish, new life brews,

In every crack and worn-out seam
Rust reminds us of our muse
That change is life’s eternal dream.