Blind's Sight
En route to the cinema's glow,
A blind beggar's fate I came to know.
Into his bowl, twisted and worn,
A coin I cast, its journey born.
His hands, unclean, searched and found,
The coin's worth in a world unsound.
His face, a canvas of life's unjust,
Shone through the grime, a trust.
"Thanks for the bread, master," he spoke,
Words trailing off, a pattern broke.
Since that encounter, I've come to crave,
A vision like his, profoundly brave.
For in his darkness, he sees more clear,
Than eyes that watch, yet never peer.
Emm*
Copyright:15/08/2014
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