I know it's possible for sleep so deep

And concious--with no dreams but darkness 'ere--

To catch the eyes of dreamers fearful, for

It's shadows wrought their brand of sightless fear.

The musings of a dreamer price their weight

In gold. And dreamers seem a species dear.

But, torn from truth (to them), becomes them dread

As ears for supernature fail to hear.

The constant fear of blindness is the price

Of sight. Almost a foresight one must bear,

Its claws will shred the small potential that

The sighted have to use their skill as seers.

Those gifted with their sight see it as all--

All that can separate them from the world--

And all that makes the people real they see

Or hope to be. So nothing scares them more

Than Sightless Fear.