THE BLIND MAN
In the darkness, I am not alone.
They come and go, the gifted.
Sweep eyes upon me surreptitiously.
Perforating glances detected by my soul.
All look upon the man that cannot see.
My ears grant me ample awareness.
Play substitute to my dead, abyssal, eyes.
Inform me of all void images,
Tease me of my bleak outlook of beauty.
So do I long to see the instruments of sound,
The matter of which all can be identified.
All words, shrouded in darkness,
Unicoloured blackness engulfs all objects.
Obscure images thrive in my deluded mind.
Random paint coats sound devoured by my ear.
In death, the heavens will sedate my tortured soul,
For angels have not tainted eyes.
The gifted often endeavor to escape the darkness.
In it, they are blind.
It renders them vunerable, isolates them to the unknown.
In the darkness, I am not alone.
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