The gate creaks like an old man’s sigh

The gate creaks like an old man’s sigh,

telling stories of storms that have passed by.

A hinge protesting each time it’s forced,

reminding me how we’re all shaped by remorse.

Watching the struggle from my front porch seat,

the rust flakes off like a missed heartbeat.

I try to fix things but know deep inside,

some doors just won’t open, some things must abide.