Knocking

Who is that knocking at my front door?
Is it the many lives that I have lived before?
Is it all my hopes, my dreams,
my prayers answered?
Or just the wind creating memories?

Must this become another dream?
Another sound that only I invented?
Have my tears sought so much beauty
unanswered,
That the sound is only their dropping
on the floor?

Is there a possibility that this sound;
this knocking at my door
Is the last sound I will hear before
my soul takes leave to return
home back to where I came from?
Is this the sound of final judgment?
Calling me home where I can finally
rest in peace.

Or is it you, all I have ever wanted,
searched for all my years,
But when I opened up the door while in my youth,
the sound looked back and laughed at me.
Is it wrong to hope, to pray, that it is
really you come knocking?
I am so afraid before I even have a chance
to open, the sound and you will disappear.

© 1996 Robert Kogan

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