In her world ever-black
She can only dream of color
The descriptions she hears
Marvel and baffle
A tree, the sky, her baby brother
Things unknown, only imagined
Sightless and in despair, she weeps
Feeling useless, violated, robbed
Her emotions are raw
Her anger palpable
Her tears so filled with ichors they sting her cheeks
Leaving scarlet trails in their wake
Her self-pity and sorrow, total
Refusing the joy of life to herself
Even though the gift of sight
Has not been bestowed upon her
She should be thankful, not full of scorn
Her gift is much more precious
Much more innocent and "sight"
For she sees what people are
Their appearances are but a cover
Black, shrouding the pages of character beneath
Be it darkest lies or marvelous wonders
Is she one who has given up
Given up on life or on living?
Nature is her first love, people's ignorances her first hate
It is the ultimate of ironies
Blind sight and sight-blind
No, not given up
Only on those who live to manipulate
For she "sees" and that sight can only be defined as
He smiles for the lesson has been taught...
© Copyright 2016 A Stranger. All rights reserved.
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