What is This Knocking?

"We won't stand for a facade."
                               ~Say Anything

~What is This Knocking?~

My door is closed.

I have no intention to open this door.

Shut to the outsider,

Shut to the people around me.

Friends that try, fail.

Lovers who try, don't make it to the door.

I have been burned before.

I have felt the sting that comes with friendship.

Surface level friendship is not friendship at all.

The real me longing for more than a smile and a hello.

Craving love more than food.

And hoping that one day I will open the door.

What is this knocking?

Who made it this far?

It continues.

It perseveres.

My door is closed.

And I have made myself alone.

Trying to love.

Trying for more.

A shut door is not a policy that works at all.

The real me has no chance to be, if I do not say hello to love.

Craving love more than this world.

And hoping for hope to open the door.

I am alone.

I am...

Where is the I Am...?

I am retreating back.

Beyond the darkness...I am.

There it is again.

That knock.

Again...again...

Should I go...go and maybe not be alone?

For surface level friendship is not friendship at all.

A shut door is not a policy that works at all.

Craving the I Am...and knowing that the knocking is from Love.

Hand on the knob...a creak...a light...

Hello...

The Comfort of Anxiety

 "Nothing in the affairs of men is worthy of great anxiety."

                                                                         ~ Plato

~ The Comfort of Anxiety ~

If I saw the maker face to face what would I ask?
Would I fall at His feet?
What desire or need would I ask on bent knee?
Would I ask anything at all? 

On my back I carry many things.
I carry the insecurities that I call strength.
I carry my doubt.
I carry my mind and my heart as they battle for top billing on my back. 

If I saw the maker what would I be willing to give to Him?
What confession would I give Him to help lighten the load?
Would I give Him anything?
For if I gave Him something would I miss it? 

Would I miss the comfort of my anxiety?
Would I cry over my depression?
Are my wounds friends that I wear proudly?
Am I a blind man begging to see.  

I have denied more than three times.
It was at least four or five.
I have inflicted more lashes on your back than forty.
I have put you to death despite of grace.  

I have crucified you more times than I can count. 
So if I was before you what would I do?
I hope that I would thank you.
I hope that I would let you take the bags I have placed on my back. 

What if I saw the maker face to face?
What if I was actually courageous?
What if I was not afraid to see?
Would I let you take the fear right out of me?