The Fireworks of Longing

Sightless am I, unfamiliar with
the prettiest card or the hue of sunshine.
So many colors--an azure sky, russet
sunsets, the marigold, rainbows...
Such images I imagine but cannot see.
All remains dark.
Now, I hear folks speak of fall, once
again, as I have heard them speak before.
Ah, the leaves, the changing of the leaves!
That transformation from green
(luscious from what I know, cool,
  from what I gather)
to some glorious explosion of color.
Again, I gather this from
careful listening, from heedful attention
and, just perhaps, from my own
humble assertion
that the Almighty could do no less.
Sounds are my bailiwick in blindness;
yet now I long to see fall’s beauty.
Is it wrong of me to want this so?
The splendid tints of trees
the metamorphosis, oaks
and maples in raiment of yellows and reds!
People speak often of this with passion.
It is to see--yes, I feel
this longing like exploding skyrockets
(and here I relate to sounds I know so well.)
Genuine my desire
to have my senses wide awake.

I wish not to be unbalanced by cruelty,
for darkness can impair.
Still, I am reminded that colors exist,
and exist in profusion
and with such abundance
as to beseech the hearts and souls
of even the most unassuming creature.

I am blind,
yet not so blind as one
without imagination.         


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
9-25-15