Change.

I have lost myself.
The vision of myself has gone astray.
I long to see the blue blindingly.
I want to see myself outlined perfectly.
I want to understand.
I need to be compelled to change.
The next me is on the way.
I surge forward deeper down,
sickening and saddening.
Deeper in to emptiness.
I am hollow bursting under pressure.
To change, to renew, to be greater.

What does it feel to be blind?

‚ÄčIt not darkness, how most people would think. It is glowing. Almost burning hot like looking into the sun, for those who can see. Otherwise its inexplicable. Sound rattles through you harder, I guess. It feels its way through every bone from all directions. 

For most of part blindness means I see more, or at least I notice more. Having five senses is a luxury that makes you lazy. I cannot see but in a single touch my brain can imagine even the tiniest detail. My finger tips are finely tuned and my levels of awareness super human.

I have never seen. You cannot miss what you never have. Explain pink to me and it is a foreign concept. I am a stranger everywhere I go but somehow I know it all better than anyone. The world is pulsing sending out millions of waves and you in your seeing world never even notice. But I home in on them I am at one with the universe.

Mortal Lady

Mortal lady, question wicked death.
Perchance all is a dream.
The world is unkind.
But do not avoid the clutches of misfortune,
because beauty grows from the wound.
Light escapes and illuminates glazed ebony skin
You will live beyond the glory of your moment.
It is all yours.
The past is yours, and the beautiful new world,
it will shine in the eyes of your children.

Changed

Brittle, broken, fractured and frayed.
There is no second chance,
lives are one in the same.
all end the same.
there is no second chance.

Brittle fractures burst and brake
shooting pains rise again.
And if morning comes it will never be the same
we are changed by the knowledge we now have.
Teary eyed we are changed.

Time and Joy.

Time steals from you.
The joy of childhood.
And if there is no joy all there is, is to work.
To slave away.
Don’t let the moment of joy from you.
Never forget childish joy.
Live as if it is all a play.
Tell me tales.
I want to know the stories of you and past you.
Tell me the same stories again,
until I am there with you.
Tell me stories of joy I can cling to.
Time will try to steal from you.
But you are safe, decorating the walls of my memory.