If the Walls Could Talk Chronicles

Knock on the Door

There's a knock on the door,
first I'm shocked then I'm sure,
the tick tock from the clock on the wall in the dark,
confirms the locks locked cause its a quarter past four.
I hear the cankle of steel, as the lever turns freely,
frankly the creak sounds freaky as it swings open completely. 
On the other side stands ambition,
discretely having visions,
incidentally this anomaly is opportunity with condition,
like a submission with suspicion,
it suggests a proposition,
if you can live with your decisions without fictitious complications,
called regret and miscommunication, it's contagious and outrageous,
like feeling invisible and submissive,
cause what matters here is missing,
like clouds in the distance,
thunder turns promiscuous, synonymous and indifferent,
as rains begin to pummel,
on all of us consistent,
even though we stay anonymous and conditioned,
to the ways that are vindictive,
controlled by the system,
from the stars and the storms and the beat of our hearts in our core,
it means a lot is not more,
with the lock on this door,
the clock can talk all it wants,
on the walls in the hall,
cause when fate comes to knock,
we'll meet at the front door.