Sunday
Drive
Sight
I had you, yet
did not see,
Screech of tyres,
tortured metal in distress,
A new cycle of
life begun,
Tirade of pain,
absence of pleasure.
Blindness, thine
are my enemy,
A power over which
I hold no control.
Memory,
Cast thyself back
in time,
I beg of you,
magically reveal to my eyes,
That which I so
miss,
Compensate for
this damaged body
Provide what I
now lack,
Gift me with a
rainbow of colour.
Gone,
Mother Earth's
own light show,
Fairy dance of
light off crystal,
The rosy hue of
the sculptors imagination.
This blind face
fails to know beauty,
My power of touch,
it speaks to me,
But can touch
show the smile of Mona Lisa?
Night,
My colour is black.
Softly close your
eyes,
Experience my
separation,
Oh vision, how
to accept your loss,
Braille, a dog,
Are these adequate
compensation?
Wife,
I feel you near,
The spirit remains,
Whilst your body
doth rot,
That which took
my eyes took your life,
Alcohol, the devil
in disguise,
The author of
pain be myself.
Copyright
July 1999
Maxine
Annabell
All
Rights Reserved
