Knock.

I crawl to the door
I am weak
I am helpless
in search of hope
I knock
he does not ask, "Who is it?"
he knows
he does not look to see who it is
he knows
he answers, "Come and sit,
all are welcome, all are loved,
I am always here
I always turn an ear."

I sit
I question
I beg
I plead
I get on my knees
I expect change,
but how can I change
when the light is on me?

How can I hear
when I drown the silence
with selfishness?
How can I spread love,
if I don't listen to its source?
If I don't hear,
why knock?