K is for: Knock

I heard a knock upon the door:

You’ve come to tell me what I need.

But I, not lost upon this shore,

Have looked away and failed to heed.

Instead have heard, oh wondrous sound,

A world that you can not control:

The buried grace you dare not see,

A reverence that reveals the soul.

The haunted depth of your desire

Condemns me to be always seen

As turning twice toward the fire,

Into which I once paused to lean.

It is not me that you’re here for,

In things you do and things you say.

You came to knock here once before

And then as now I turned away.

For I know less but speak of greed;

And you know less but speak of grace.

And when this is declared as deed

Your words will fail to erase

The part of you that brings you shame:

The part that will deny the loss.

That lingers here without a name,

Throughout the path that you won’t cross.

I wish for you what you deserve:

No more or less than you for me:

The path from which you can not swerve

The truth inside that you can’t see