Deeply <br />Squinting <br />Past his pitiable myopic sight <br />In a calling discovery <br />That mark <br />That gave the notes <br />To their song <br />The rhythm to their beat <br />And a boundless promised delight <br />Was <br />Slowly coming <br />To a new consciousness <br />He knew the words to their songs <br />He wondered… why? <br />He had not <br />Seen the bonded <br />Mark of his brow <br />His sight was so much better <br />When he was younger <br />Why now? <br />Yet he grasped it <br />And walked <br />Among one of <br />Their <br />Numbered tribes<br /><br />Debora Short<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-trail-2/
