Late Closing (Poetry)

Too often now, I hear the sound
of far-off doors slamming shut
like a dull thudding prelude to the day
a repeating theme of growing old
that accompanies each baffled thought
caught up in its own loop.

Not only shut but locked as well
since time stands stout against me
for youth was the slender key
I’ve lost along with vital energy
to bridge the hours
and dance to destiny’s bright waltz.

Meanwhile, it seems there are no options open
down the creaking corridor of years
heart-music slowed — dismal as a dirge
the beat turned ponderous
while weighing up the likelihood
of finding one unnumbered door
                                        left ajar ...