It was five o’clock when done
the house of the incredibly blind
the last clock made for sightseers
for those that see
Outside the birds were flocking
Outside the humans were mocking
Inside i stood my stable ground
holding onto a thread of life
Seeing is not always believing
See, it’s not visual
See, it’s not love
People want forgiveness
Its incredible senses
Why so hard to find
its imagination in life
Let’s me guide you
Spending light by seers
all my days this dark world
i use words to visualize
To see what eyes fail to see
how bipeds are maimed
forgetting a perfect picture
For some handicapped are more
than sightless life
a hell that we tend to hear
But is it the world
or is it me?
\don’t make me lose my mind/
A soul floating in vast space
Stay to see the world ignite
and explain to me what you see
I’ll tell you what is real
Every time.
I paint a perfect picture ~~~
\a beautiful world not seen
by humanity.
:: 05.10.2024 ::
The Poet’s Notes:
As a poet, I wrote, “THE BLIND,” as an exploration of perception and reality.
I attemped to exercise the imagery as a vivid and thought-provoking life-form, inviting readers to reconsider the significance of sight and the limitations it imposes on our understanding of the world.
Using contrast between the external world, where birds flock and humans mock, and the internal world of the narrator, where stability is found despite blindness, was meant to be striking.
It highlights the disconnect between appearance and essence, challenging the notion that seeing is synonymous with believing.
The repetition of “See, it’s not visual; See, it’s not love” reinforces the theme of transcending conventional perceptions, suggesting that true understanding comes from within, from the senses beyond sight.
Moreover, I labored to extend the exploration of imagination as a means of perception to make it compelling. By using words to visualize and create a “perfect picture,” to conjure a transcendial physical limitation to perceive a world unseen by humanity is my testament to the power of creativity and introspection.
The closing lines, questioning whether it is the world or the poet’s perception that defines reality, leaves a lingering sense of ambiguity and introspection. It prompts readers to contemplate the subjective nature of reality and the role perception plays in shaping our understanding of the world.
As an old man and poet, I believe “THE BLIND” is a thought-provoking and evocative poem that delves into the complexities of perception, reality, and imagination.
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