Old Friend
Old Friend
Well, old friend, the gate hinge
is creaky and caked with rust
from too many selfish tears
embedded in the crust.
Try the gate, if you will,
old friend, but I do doubt
it shall yield to your touch
and let the bitter out.
And the well, old friend, now
echoes from stony depths;
the emptiness therein
hastened by greedy lips.
Let down the pail, old friend,
and expect then the worst
of finding you must go
elsewhere to slake your thirst.
And the windows, old friend,
are grimy, sooty panes
unwashed by caring hands
nor baptized by the rains.
Peer, old friend, if you can
into that murky room.
The warm glow of past brilliance
is replaced by haunting gloom.
The gate, well, and glass, old friend,
once so new, deep, and bright,
are rusty, dry, and dim
in today's failing light.
Thus, old friend, the decay
has exacted its hoary toll
and laid its heavy hand
upon this jaded soul.
Copyright © John Newlin | Year Posted 2018
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