Gentle Rust

Gentle rust brown dying

Steel still honed sharp though hand

Bereft long days left lying

In lieu of need's demand

In dust of work long done

Blade upon my knuckle

Blood drawn in confusion

Civilization buckles

Baring the illusion

Numbers and letters spun

Scar remembers the blade

Bones the hammer blow

After memories fade

Of our striving will know

How the work is begun

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