Blind Sight
Blind.
Are we now too bludgeoned by life and too blind to see?
Are we scared of what we’ve become, of what is to be?
Blood.
Courses through our veins.
The muscle of the heart keeps pumping strong.
But good hearts of love lose just the same.
Us.
You and me.
Do we care about each other?
Do we open our minds to see?
Would I walk through fire for you, would you walk through fire for me?
Copyright © A Yorkshire Poet | Year Posted 2021
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