Blinded By Their Right
Blind ... can be seen to find,
a mysterious fog ahead,
restrained by fury without wind,
Hot air born to burst,
about a front and behind.
Yet we don't see.
Blind ... can be thought to unwind,
a coiled raptor snaking below,
kept to a grassy den, undulations
Travel between a long, slow
reach and rewind.
Yet we don't see.
Blind ... can be heard when confined,
a silent sound etching against
the shameful soul, growing louder
By volume, out of control,
as if designed.
Yet we don't see.
Blind ... can be tasted when dined,
a savory dish serving righteousness,
giving the palate wanton flavor, that
Was craved and unconfined.
Yet we couldn't see.
Blind ... can be felt in the mind,
a hazy recollection that simmers,
from the flame to consume, the basic
Sight granted most of a kind.
Yet we did not see.
And yes, blind ... can be vengeful, if inclined,
a fearful hatred, often patient,
even measured, though seldom justified,
So it yields to a pulpit
where it's neutered & refined.
Yet we still won't see.
But blind ... can be removed by mankind,
a daunting task that's undertaken
in every home where the human heart
Resides, as understanding & tolerance
compel our vision, opined.
Then, we will see the sight for such
sore eyes, that now is redefined.
Copyright © Timothy Mattson | Year Posted 2023
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