The Door

Be another to close that door.
Be in your confining silence,
Filled with wise words
Unspoken by wise fools.
Wallow in your dark
That is useless without the stars.

But look at the stars
Before closing your door,
And wonder why the dark
Would live in such silence.
Those small glimmers must be fools,
Never speaking any words.

What kind of words
Would be uttered by stars
To be heard by fools
Before they close their door
And engulf the silence
In their everlasting dark?

In the stillness, the dark
Mouths these words
Into the silence
To the quiet stars,
But the lights slam the door
On the obscure fool.

Who are the true fools?
Is it the curious dark,
Pushed away with the slam of a door
For uttering curious words?
Or is it the stars,
Who chose to stay in silence?

You go ahead and stay silent,
Because only fools
Would pretend they were stars,
And ignore the world, live in the dark.
You can whisper silent nothings, useless words
To the back of your door.

It is not the stars, who stay silence,
Nor the dark, whose words are but scholarly questions,
But you, with your door of negligence, who is the fool.