Blindness Flows On The Mind’s Floor As A Mindful Flour

The blind have a flaw
It is not a theory or a law
It is a certainty beneath my claw
that makes me not surprised or in awe
When you don't see the ground, you fall into traps some more
When you don't see your life, it all begins to bore
It creates an untreatable sore
Life will feel so hot... like the core...
When an inner sight, haven't you, your eyes like ice begin to thaw
You feed in some more blood than the lion's paw
Your heart feels as powerless as the blunt saw
And desires to be jagged by a sharp jaw
The blind is bitter like the choice-less whore
His blind eyes, his soul, just tore
Evidence of sorrow penetrate deep beneath his pore
The silk of sorrow in his mind, he just wore
Blindness is a chore
Loss of sight is a hot iron ore
In the world of the blind, there is always an "or"
It is the metal thing that cannot be retrieved by Thor
The blind is in need of more
More mercy, he should live for
The ability to see, he just needs a whole lot more
When it comes to his life, he needs a tour
The blindness I explore
Is not that of the physical eyes raw
But I, the blindness of the mind, implore
It sure can destroy the souls of more than four

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Perspectives of blindness