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?