If only I could write today
Of what I truly feel,
Looking at the world through blind eyes,
I read the words of those who see and leap and walk,
Who live in such a different world, it almost seems
That we are aliens, strangers to each other,
Yet still made of the flesh and blood
That draws us close together,
I struggle to know that I belong,
Yet write as if I do,
Illusory? Perhaps,
But sometimes illusions have to be,
For otherwise
How could we
Bear the pain of blindness?
How do I write my Goodbyes?
How do I say “So long”?
And yet today,
The tree stripped bare
Said it all to me,
For I too am stripped bare,
Of all that I once knew,
Of the colours of my life,
Of beauty, of frolicking in the breeze,
And now, I am empty handed,
Except for my words,
I offer you my words


If I were you and you were me,
What different colours would we see?
For I am blind and you can’t hear,
What different things would we hold dear?
The grass is green, what does that mean?
It could be blue, things only seem
To paint a picture bold and true
That means the same to me and you.

If you were me and I were you,
How would we hear the colour blue?
It’s not just words that shed the light
On all life’s questions big and small,
There’s none that mean the same to all,
I wonder if you’ll now agree
That different shades we all will see,
That white is black, and black is white,
But all has meaning in Love’s sight.