Whisper and a Knock

To the life of the naked eye, both your skins are the same but to me, neither strain is the same.

One call with an arrogant whisper the other with a sweet knock.

The whisper quiet and simple had me working to my knuckles.

Knuckles working to cover up the pain, screams, and shame it caused. 

My sweet knock loud and complex had my hands at rest. Hands held to bring healing, laughs, and memories.

A chaotic whisper came to me in all privacy but stoned me for all to see.

But that sweet knock adores me for no and all eyes to see.

Your whisper as uninviting as the snake in the garden of Eden.

Sweetest knock you're as invting as my needed redemption.

To trade my whisper in for my sweetest knock has been my grandest treasure even in death.