No One Comes Knocking

 No One Comes Knocking

They keep waiting

for opportunity
to knock like a polite stranger.

It doesn't.

It slips in through a cracked window,
wearing dirty boots,
looking like another bad day.

Most people
call it bad luck.

They call it bad timing.

They call it everything
except the thing
standing right in front of them.

You can spend your life
staring at a locked door,

or you can notice
the fence was never that high.

Blindness
has little to do with the eyes.

It's believing
the room you're standing in
is the whole damn house.

Seeing
is stepping into the dark
before the light agrees with you.

It's taking the road
that doesn't promise a thing
except another mile.

Faith isn't certainty.

It's striking the match
when all you've got
is wind.

And maybe

an easy life
was never easy at all.

Maybe it only looked that way
because someone else
kept walking
while everybody else
was busy
counting reasons
to stand still.