The color of the blind

A chance blows to the wind-
an orchestrated silence takes claim.
Hunger licks the lips
of every rise and fall
till this land lays lame.

Take me as your call.
The limbs to your shade.
The voice of dusk,
when it’s cold out front
and nobody hangs behind you.

For I am everything in one,
taken from the light of the sun.
I reflect a rhythm-
that settles the tide
and sets the night.
I am what you can see.
The unspoken prize,
We are out to get.

I grow free.
I am memory;
a strangling vine,
watered to bring you
back to the time
that I flowed through rivers
and ended as sightless
as a memory lost.

Do You remember?

When tears had a balance.
When all about you was unknown.
A walk in the night
and you awoke
alive in distant leaves,
Shaken from the ground
to the beat of love,
strung and unstrung
around the ghosts of trees.

Or have you forgot?

To enter an abiding trance.
Where only what is shown Is known
and all knowledge remains trite
to the silence in which we soak,
Drown and float, to grieve
not the fate to which we are bound-
but that this moment can never be enough,
To beings that hold the world
but in themselves
see nothing.

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