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Poem

How oft must the Seemingly Blind witness the act of Pathetically Hidden Fascinations, 
Seemingly Stolen Stares and, lest not forget, 
the Ever-Quick Dismissals of Spilt Emotions with the onset of Guilt.
 
Surely the Blind would Blush for the facade leaves much to be...  
No!  Of course there is no room for Desire here!  It is currently pursuing its own Lust.  
The Seemingly-Blind left with the Gift of Front-Row-Seating.
 
Tiresome it is...  

So very weary the Seemingly Blind Soul, 
the Unpleasantness of Human-Nature thrust upon it…  
so Heavy to bear.  
 
How Bitter the taste of your Sweetly-Stained-Cruelty.
 
How Grief-Stricken the Silenced-Cries of Seemingly-Blind-Souls echo through your Cold, Dismissive and Annoyed…  “love”...?
 
Self-Denial might be rife within you, but know this:
My Love Languishes within this Dismissive, Reward-Based love…
Your Passively Silent Torture…
Your…  “love”…?

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