The River Blind
The world a canvas, blurred and washed in gray,
Sorrows of sight, a thief that steals the day.
Grief unseen, a silent, haunting guest,
Lodged in the hollow of a hollowed chest.
Darkness nests within the mind's deep core,
A landscape barren, where shadows soar.
An empty heart, a cavern cold and vast,
Echoes of laughter from a cherished past.
Craving that warmth, a phantom's gentle hold,
Stories whispered, now grown faint and old.
Lost in the now, adrift on currents strong,
Where fragmented moments blur and throng.
The tapestry of present, frayed and thin,
Offers no solace, no place to begin.
A weight of what was, heavy on the soul,
Pulling me down, beyond my own control.
Each breath a struggle, a weary, drawn-out sigh,
Underneath the vast and judging sky.
The future yawns, a question mark untold,
A path unlit, both frightening and bold.
No beacon shines, no star to guide my way,
Just swirling mists where hopes begin to fray.
Blindly I wander, trusting in the flow,
Where the tides of destiny relentlessly go.
Into the river of time, I gently wade,
Hoping for answers, a respite from the shade.
Will clarity emerge, on waters clear and bright?
Or will I be swept away into endless night?
The current pulls, a force I can't deny,
Carrying me forward, beneath a watchful eye.
Perhaps within this rush, a solace lies,
A letting go of burdens, of memories, and lies.
To surrender to the flow, to simply be,
And trust that the river will eventually set me free.
Even blind, even broken, I still believe,
That somewhere downstream, my heart will finally grieve,
And find a quiet peace, a moment to receive.
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