There are waves
that touch me in this emptiness,
great forms of light
and meaning.
I struggle to sort ill intention
from blindness
and to accept that consequence
disregards them both.
I fight to learn how
to take joy as it comes,
to travel that lemon yellow
stream of light
to a source I know as myself.
I would not
that I had less Sight
but stronger feet,
a stronger Heart
to witness the blindness of men.
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