Rusty Waltz
In the dance of time, the steps lose their grace,
Beneath the gilded age, the metal sighs,
Where rust devours the elegance in place.
Each note, once bright, now muted in its space,
Decay conspicuously under fading skies,
In the dance of time, the steps lose their grace.
The waltz of age spins in a tarnished space,
Where every whisper of the past slowly dies,
Where rust devours the elegance in place.
Dull music plays on in a fractured pace,
Memories of grandeur are but fragile ties,
In the dance of time, the steps lose their grace.
A symphony’s heartbeat slows to a stark embrace,
Time’s relentless fingers, iron-clad and wise,
Where rust devours the elegance in place.
The rhythm falters, shadows interlace,
And twilight’s touch leaves rust upon the eyes,
In the dance of time, the steps lose their grace.
Yet in this tarnished waltz, a mournful chase,
We twirl in memories, where soft beauty lies,
Where rust devours the elegance in place.
A final bow as twilight’s hues efface,
Time’s cruel rust turns grace to iron guise,
In the dance of time, the steps lose their grace.