Before the knock

The confused mind, wandering thoughts… spoken words
Terrifying fear … action or inaction, gay or pain
Hovers around settling down
When not permitted
Blinding the weak eyes, shutting down
The straining ears and ceasing breaking breadth.

Open your weak eyes
Even when it is dusty and dark,
Too bright too crowdie
Allowing not the piercing
Sword of the mind and the sharp
Fork tongue more poisonous
Than the scorpion and the rattle snakes.

Open your straining ears not to the banshees
But the sweet soothing song of the bluebirds
Comforting many as it rains.
Through out the ages yet
Has none to comfort
But the smiling moon and passing fleece.

None to speak to because
Surrounded by the cold and thorny trees
Short to its reach…
By the long winter nights of starless skies
And the short sunny days
Its words, voices like echoes waiting
To be accepted and heard, opened
To be loved by those it loves.

Gay or pain whatever it be
Fed up by the silence which
It protects and nurtures
Because of others that came its way
Shortly but devastating
Polluting and looting its enchanting voice
That lips imitate in failure.

Open and loose, release and allow
The mind and thoughts for a change for once
For us, for good and well-being
For that future, for them and all others
Below or higher, to what the aching and aging ears
Will hear from the weary mouths of what the weak eyes see
The truth it is, only will tell, the coming moments.