The Blind

The misty  colorful halo
shedded by the echoes of reflection
spreading through the sky
from one rock to the other;
bleeding all the colors visible
to this uncertain blind man
who cannot imagine the fiction,
the way I or you see it.

He has his own ways
to feel the chilling wind
that carries the misty light
of the big stone – the moon;
The moon that borrows
a little bit of sun shine
to light the path for those
that are in the dark mist.



“Uncertain you called – why? “
Asked another blind, you see.
“Imagine, he cannot – why?”
With a grim, he muttered his tooth.
Silence filled empty rooms.
Blind or blinded is everyone.
True colors are hard to see
when illusion rules the demon.



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