From your door

The tears are drying fast,
A melancholy has set in,
She lurks apologetically in places,
She can’t be seen or heard.
We live in a mute world,
Selectively blind,
So careful of their own,
The beautiful inside is rotting,
Unaware,
Not ugly just cowardice, I think,
To fill your pockets with stone,
And hurl them without caring,
Whom they might hit,
Forgiveness is easy,
If you can foresee the future,
Hurt must always find her way home,
The journey must end,
From the door it had begun.