On streets, the people turn their faces.
In homes, the people scorn the knocks.
It’s true in all times and all places
That humans hide behind their locks.
But there are wounded souls within,
For whom the touch of one just like
Would wash the suffering off one’s skin
In the instant of a lightning-strike.
We will see what we now ignore,
The truth we each possess in part.
Then, there will be not one closed door.
Then, there will be not one closed heart.