Thursday, October 30, 2014

Blind Painter's Poetry

In the quiet of the forest
A single man walks alone
The moon refuses to light his way

He remembers the woods
As they were in the spring
Bursting with light and color

He remembers when his path was easy
And the way was straight and sure
Before the sun set, a terrible time

Now it is dark and the colors obscured
Turning gray as time goes by
Only words are left to him now

The colors sang to him
What seems like so long ago
And now they've fallen silent

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