I open my eyes and look to the dark,
thick coils swirl across the vague lit
ceiling of my changing eyesight and
I imagine all sorts of things are there
floating just outside my vision’s night.
—–
I wonder at the others who lie awake
and test their eyes against the lies of
day, and see through their minds a
host of many hued delights they love,
playing there just by their bedsides.
——–
My heart is churning thinking of all
the life I love, my need to see my
beloved and my children and theirs;
and the pillow damp with tears; hid
from those kind seeing eyes longing
——–
to help, find a cure, seek a way to
teach, braille, train me to see what
I can, for a long as I might but still
the drop falls and the night palls
and fear grows with the coming light.
——
Mine staved off for now but for others
the grey mist falls. And a white stick
calls so that they might walk amongst
the living and feel the grief of the toil
that boils in rage at the injustice of it all.
