A Broken Gate

Wind sweeps harshly against the trees

A gate, hinges ‘most broken, swinging

Left unnoticed, ignored

Its soul almost invisible

Creaking against every whiff

A sense of something unmoored

Beyond the blues and greys of the sky

Every rattle threatening to be its last

The metal has grown weak and brittle

Unravelling from the bonds holding them

The hinges struggle to hold on

But the wind moves on

And it stands, still trembling

Waiting for the next storm

Whispering against itself

How many more winds should pass

Before it is forced to fall