Your doorbell has never worked

so I knocked harder to try and rouse you,

to no avail, either sleeping

or just not in the mood to give me shelter,

your indifference at answering the door,

to give me access for a while

as the rain falls down around my head,

causing clouds to gather, to become storms

that grumble and fork lightning deliver

internal solitude but become the reason for others

to avoid the sparks; I will not knock

upon your door any longer,

I see your doorknocker is but a novelty

and made of tarnished brass.

Ian D. Hall 2017