Should I make a poetry anthology?

Blindness

I met a man on his way,
He saw me and smiled,
It was warm.
"Stand up" he said,
He said many things,
He soaked the dirt on the ground,
For his spittle flew as he spoke,
And when he walked away I was wiser,
I washed myself in his wisdom,
I washed my eyes,
I could see.