Hello again and how are you doing?
It’s true that I am blind, and with my vision loss comes a plethora of absorption, adapting and advancing towards a future full of tomorrows. One of the best things that have emerged among my vision loss has been the rebirth of my lifelong passion for writing. The magnificence of the pen has shown me things about myself that I never knew, and didn’t care to learn. How time and space can change a person.
I have written a lot of my vision loss, and it has proved to be a huge stepping stone as I make my way through this next chapter of my life.
The following is a poem that I wrote a year or so after my sight loss of 2010. I have written many poems about entering my dark world, and I chose this one because it ties in closely with my last post.
Thanks for dropping by, and here we go.
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The sights are gone, but I still feel the visions.
They are forever firmly engraved into my searching mind.
Reaching out into the darkness, the memories of yesterday guide me into tomorrow.
Picture by picture, the snapshots that still remain, vividly run through my mind.
One by one, colorful canvases pull me back into my past, and remind me how to feel.
Faintly, I see the day unfold, as the foggy colors come sliding by.
Faintly I work my way through the shadows, and recall what once was.
Faintly I muster a vague smile, as I silently cry inside.
With echoed sound replacing familiar sight, I listen to the view.
Foggy colors tell their story, as endless days tell their tale, one empty canvas at a time.
Slowly, I start to understand the sounds of the colors.
Slowly, I begin to understand the harmony that constantly plays inside my head.
Chaotic concerts fill my imagination, as a single lullaby rolls over the horizon.
Blending the two as one, I slowly fill the canvas with colored sound.
Strokes of vision glide across the empty white of my mind.
Pausing, I step back and take all of the beauty and breathe in deep.
Darkened nights come alive with the palette of the day.
Oh how I wish to wrap the starless nights with those lighted colors of sound.
They soothe and calm the anxious child inside.
They wrap around and hold tight the true meaning of this endless story.
The grays turn to gold, as the blacks turn to blue.
I am the artist inside the painting.
I am the conductor staring down at the strings and horns.
I am the director of the soaring saga.
I color the page with a scheme of sserenity, promise and hope.
So many familiar things seem so distant and alone.
So many memories replace the present.
So many feelings touch my soul.
So many times I hear the laughter of the loved, and the cries of the innocent.
So many doubts and emotions and questions play out in front of childhood dreams.
The canvas is empty, except for the colors from within.
The canvas tells of a tale long forgotten, but quickly remembered.
It is empty, but for the colors that I hear inside.
It is empty, but for the call of the colors.
It is empty, but for the visions that come alive with the strokes of brush.
It is empty, but for the comfort of the memories.
It is empty, but for a few hints of what eludes me.
It is empty, but for the darkness that bursts alive all around me.
Thanks again for stopping by, and always remember to color the canvas with the colors of your day.
Take care and keep warm