The Blind Man.

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All the darkness engulfing this man's mind,
Has made him blind.

His thoughts are in a dim dungeon, Indifferent to the land of imagination, Begging to not stay ensnared

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His thoughts are in a dim dungeon,
Indifferent to the land of imagination,
Begging to not stay ensnared.

His heart is a black ice sculpture, Locked and unfeeling to any form of love

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His heart is a black ice sculpture,
Locked and unfeeling to any form of love.

And his eyes, The supposed window to the soul? Are tightly shut, Not allowing the rays of joy to reach them

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And his eyes,
The supposed window to the soul?
Are tightly shut,
Not allowing the rays of joy to reach them.

He does not see the exhausted, troubled tiny soul left in him, Struggling to escape, Screaming with the plea to be no longer enslaved, By the darkness that went further than his eyes

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He does not see the exhausted, troubled tiny soul left in him,
Struggling to escape,
Screaming with the plea to be no longer enslaved,
By the darkness that went further than his eyes.

A/N: Thanks so much for helping me reach my goal of five votes on my previous poem!

Please don't forget to vote and voice your thoughts!

I'll pick the next person to dedicate my next poem to from the first three to comment!

Thanks for reading and have a great ☀/🌙!

In My Feelings//Watty's 2019//Where stories live. Discover now