Poetry: The Blind Man
The Blind Man: Desire Wisdom
There he is sitting on a log
No one beside him, not even his needed dog
With his wide eyes in the distance on a hot summer day
This old man with hair on his face white as cotton’s hay
Big round eyes of wonder looking into the sky
This moment captured so beautifully, yet so bizarre
Because the man looking up cannot see at all
His brown sun hat shades his head, the perfect fit for this porcelain doll
A worn brown blazer, denim jeans, and white shoes is what he has on
One hand grasping a stick, while the other lies on
He looks into the distance without fear or care like a ferocious lion
Maybe he can see something that we, with our natural eyes fail to see
In front of his wooden house like an unmovable mountain
This old man takes a rest each day
I wish he would speak to me, what would he say?
Would he talk to me about difficulties like racism and economics?
Would he tell me how a day in his life like a paradise in Earth’s tropics?
Would he be able to encourage me or give me hope before he passes away?
While he sits there and gazes into the terribly bright sky
His enormous black shadow lags behind
Speak to me Mr. tell me what is on your mind.