The knock upon a door

                Small letters hold sentiment as the emotions
scream out the answers yet what are they? Clarity defines
the fine layers that explode deep within me. Still nothing
else falls out into the open. Just that of exhausted air.

               Oh so softly I nudge at the wound. Hoping the
festering ceases long enough to have reality take a
strong lick. So comical is the vibrating echoes. How else
do I not laugh at the seeping forms of
disappointment.

               Yet who am I but the knock upon a door? The
opening that leaves questions building. Oh sadly the tears
fall and the hurt spreads. Still, though, I endure
because my level of uncomfort has not been
beached.

              Funny, though, the sound of kindness gets pressed,
dissuaded to become forms of bittersweet mockery.
The only thing that holds me stationary is the unyielding
hope that one day a defense will be placed in my guard.

             Yet who am I but the knock at a door? The
one opportunity seated, waiting. Oh the sweetness pulls
at the tender underlining of me. The tiny bits that
create strong waves of laughter. All in hopes of
settling.

             Gingerly I sprinkle the fading emotions with
the coarsest of salt. Finding a place for the hope within
a dream. A possibility that one day the prayer is
found and the rolling glass of slate ceases.

            Softly I whisper inside the cold night air. Hoping
the clarity finds the root. Expanding that I am more
than a knock upon a door, that I do need protecting
and that my dreams do count.

           A simple request is put forth and the fine
lines woven inside the tapestry become ever stronger.

         Still all I can do at this moment is pray, hope
and wait. Dare to dream a little dream, eh?