The Struggle of Knocking

There could be a knock on the door

But I may not be home. It could be

That I'm out in hiking boots,

Getting lost in thought and on trails.

It could be that I am inside—

Maybe I'm too weak to let anyone in

And I sit in the dark, hearing the pleas

But I let the knocking continue

Until it stops and I'm left alone.

This could be what I want—an open

Door leading to the woods, away

From the struggle of knocking.