THE RUSTY HINGE

by John Herlihy

I
They say that old age has its compensations;
Having crossed the threshold, I’m not so sure.
Feeling the worse for wear, without clear expectations,
I ask the rusty door hinge, to feel more secure.
He creeks an uncertain reply seeming like a groan,
But listening more closely sounded like a moan.
He had no encouraging advice to brighten my sky,
He shrugged his shoulders and uttered a sigh.
We two now together, an unexpected friend.
Someone to talk to and help me mend,
The rusty hinge and I.

II
These bones now ancient scaffolding
That once ran miles on winged feet;
The nerves now taut as guitar wire
Sing verses that snap and ping.
The eyes blur the page I cannot clearly discern,
When once I read books that helped me to learn.
The skin hangs in folds like a Kashmiri shawl,
The face a map of aging parchment tracing a long haul;
The mouth is turned downward and speaks with a drawl.
My thoughts get caught in the cobwebs of my dreams,
My suits are stretching apart at the seams.
The muscles no more than frayed ropes,
The mustache still growing perkily with lingering hopes.
I move slowly about with unfurled sails
Still hoping to explore unknown trails.

III
My bending body, my listing ship,
Making its solitary way to the horizon, its final trip.
I lean resolutely on my staff,
Wishing to prop myself up at least by half.
In the distance, I now see the hem of the world,
Earth and sky a seamless whole, not a bird in sight,
No smoky wind, no message my mind to blight;
A mystery lies hidden in the depths of the night,
To mark the way forward like a medieval knight.
Beyond lies the seam of the celestial horizon,
Where wisdom and truth create a stellar verizon.
In the heavens above angels make contacts
In the far regions below devils sign contracts.
My life now a message in a bottle
That no one will ever find.

IV
I lived a simple life,
Forever fearful and shy.
That was my nature, I wonder why.
Hopefully, I will die a simple death,
One with which I can easily comply.
Now I wonder what comes next;
I’ll ask the rusty hinge, feeling perplexed.
He bowed with a flair and turned on his heels,
Making a noise that sounded like organ peals.
Before I could fully utter fare thee well,
With a whisper sounding like the tinkling of a bell,
The rusty hinge disappeared without another word to tell,
Becoming a golden hinge, shining for all to astound.
The gates of paradise opened upon a vista unbound,
Bidding me welcome without uttering a sound.