The blind man sits and sees with his ears

Sees with his heart, sees with his fears

He watches the children who push and fight

Watches the world that struggles to be right

Listening close to the girl who would try

To place her comfort in the newest born lie

 

He sighs, by and by

 

The blind man listens to the parents who go along

Arguing, ignoring, trying to prove wrong

He takes note of the need

To check our news feed

He thinks upon our lack of rest,

From anxiously trying to reach the best,

 

It hurts in his chest

 

He listens all the way to his humble abode

Escaping the harsh judgments outside on the road

From the many of those who blame those with fame

And complain of those who – complain

He hurries to go and shut his front door

Hoping and praying that there is no more

 

He looks in the mirror and turns on the light

You may think it’s funny and just not right

Can a blind man look upon his face?

As he thinks and observes the human race?

Does he exist though he cannot see? 

Just like the people inwardly dying to be free?

 

If he looked, what would he find?

And who, I must ask, is really blind?