poems should be felt, not read.


Sightless Reading

Bookshelves stand as bemused sentinels through my voyage into this labyrinth
Oh the handfuls of gold I would give for their wooden sight
For mine has fled, as a thief discovered in the sleepy night
And words bloom as roses, or lilies, or hyacinths
Their colors fall into a dark glove and are hidden from me
Onyx fingers clutch fiercely at the knowledge I seek
I wander alone, dry mouthed in the shade of depression
Blind, I cannot reap the harvest all around me
Knowledge is power and I am weak sitting in the training ground
Have no pity for me, instead give me guidance
So dark in here
So very cold
Cold as the mountaintops, overlooking my actions
With friendly, if solemn faces
Upturned to the moonlight, seeking lunar communion...
What's this? The walls have started singing in unison
Of regretted words, and wise deeds, and forlorn, wintry places
This was my destination, stumbling in dank corridors for an eternity
The journey I had trudged through was the final destination
One does not need sight, emotions are sufficient compensation
To feel words farmed in silence, and brewed in subtlety.




Poetry by Dominic
Read 501 times
Written on 2007-02-20 at 17:01

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