Our tears are turbid,

Clouding our eyes.

Our hearts have been broken

Too many times…

We are blind.

 

And our minds

Have been molded –

Our actions: scolded

In hopes that we’ll turn out all right.

And we try –

Yet, still

We are blind.

 

So when time

Ticks by

A little slower,

And we believe we are seeing a little clearer –

Have experience under our belts,

Feeling as feelings should be felt…

We hope we’ll turn out all right.

And we try – still try,

But find ourselves

Still blind.

 

When wearisome times,

Worn-out lies,

And lines from every other different life,

Become what we call OLD…

We grow cold.

And in a moment of evanescent clarity,

We are blind.