Being blind is no picnic. It’s getting a little easier some days, except for those days when it isn’t. I have continued learning how to adapt, except for those days where there’s just too much to take in.
I will forever be grateful for the help, and I will always try to help others when I can, although there are a lot of days when I don’t feel I have anything at all to contribute.
Being blind tends to suck a wicked lot, and the blurred existence of some days is just that, an unimagineable glance at something I can’t even see.
The feeling of embarrassment is very strong some days. As I fumble around, I despise the moment. As I search for things with my cane, I dread the moment. As I stumble and wobble as I maneuver to and fro, I remember a time of adequate agility and beneficial coordination.
Here I am, as blind as a man can be, but with visions that no other man has been given. Here I am, wondering where the light went, and as I move through the darkness, my mind lends me a different way to see.
And here you are, again, on this, the 23rd day of April, and below is my 23rd poem of the month.
No matter how you see, how you feel, how you make it through your day, I hope you find piece of mind and peace of heart.
Best to ya.
A poem by DP Lyons
I can’t see the morning.
I wonder if it’s really there.
It’s too early to feel the sun on my face.
There must be a fog rolling across the field.
What is, feels like what once was.
Things I hear, sound just out of reach.
The day quickly fills up with memories.
The memories help fill the growing shadows of the day.
I see a shimmering flash of neon blue,
And then absolutely nothing at all.
Hearing a voice, I strain to remember a smile.
I frown and grab my cane as the burden continues to grow.
My thoughts scatter as I remember a dream.
A young boy runs freely across an open field.
He breathes, he feels, he sees.
Alive as he once was, he assures me that he still is.
The heart of the boy continues beating.
The visions of the boy continue guiding.
The dreams of the boy continue to grab hold and pull.
The questions of the boy continue calling out.
I can’t see the morning,
But I know it’s still there.