I am blind, you outsiders. It is a curse, <br /> a contradiction, a tiresome farce, <br /> and every day I despair. <br /> I put my hand on the arm of my wife <br /> (colorless hand on colorless sleeve) <br /> and she walks me through empty air. <br /> <br /> You push and shove and think that you've been <br /> sounding different from stone against stone, <br /> but you are mistaken: I alone <br /> live and suffer and howl. <br /> In me there is an endless outcry <br /> and I can't tell what's crying, whether its my <br /> broken heart or my bowels. <br /> <br /> Are the tunes familiar? You don't sing them like this: <br /> how could you understand? <br /> Each morning the sunlight comes into your house, <br /> and you welcome it as a friend. <br /> And you know what it's like to see face-to-face; <br /> and that tempts you to be kind.<br /><br />cassey wolsh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blind-71/