Not Blind

Oh Max Bemis, how you inspire me. Another poem I wrote sometime in the last year. Found it as I was packing for university.

Woe is the harsh rain against a cellar door,

hides the sun in gray, satellite feeds

into a blank receiver, straight-faced

wide-eyed lies can't tear away

the mind from the day's travesty,

from all these streets I don't know,

how far down this hole I'll go,

not blind, but left a boy

that can no longer see--

thin fingers trace and fumble along that fragile skin,

but no longer mine.

It's nice to have hope.

Reviews

[CatOfOrion]

I really enjoyed this. The diction you used was well thought and provided a great image, and it was a plus that it was so fluent to speak/read in one's mind.