Rust

With a grumble and groan,
the trembling tower
clung to its “fifteen minutes,”
for well over an hour.

Eventually the strain
of holding itself high
brought the tower to its knees,
revealing the sky.

Now the steel Samson lies exposed,
and the vultures pick it clean
until a skeleton of rust
is all that remains to be seen.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were metal, weaken, and decay.*