An outage of sight leaves me blind — but it opens me up:
to see, to witness; to feel, to know
what it is like, being loved and hated,
alone in a room of darkness,
counting my own possessions, and wondering at my life.
How far the outcry; how seldom I try —
but on the closest side, I realize there is a hope, a light.
But where is it leading? How soon will it be another day,
with a new mystery, a self of a new realm?
Still, on the corner of that street,
I am walking down, in the hope of catching her glimpse,
and whispering a few words;
and with the rain, I hide my tears —
seen, to unseen, I figure it out, another time;
but, overlapped and collapsed, here and there,
I am everywhere — but with the confusion, and despair, of a call.
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