She was born in a sightless world, never knowing
The beauties all around, but enjoyed and knowing every sound.
Her hearing had become so defined, she could tell
The dropping of a dime.
The sounds of a car, truck, or motorbike
No two sounds were ever alike.
She knew the sound of each bird high up in the trees
And the sound of a cricket in the summer breeze.
Being sightless did not mean that she could not see
Her hands took away the mysteries.
With just touching a picture would form in her mind
To be seen as clear as day, and wipe all her doubts away.
She would run her fingers around your face
Feeling every line and every space.
She had all the gifts that GOD had given
And making life truly worth living.
With her keen hearing she could tell what was in your heart
And if you was in love – or your heart being torn apart.
Her life was about as normal as can be, but she had her
Human desires and needed a love to put out the fire.
Then her dream finally came true, when a friend told her
“I’m in love with you”!
Her parents told her – “listen to his heart and you will see
If this love is meant to be”!
She listened to his heart like a doctor with a stethoscope
And his heart did beat true – that this man’s in love with you.
Her sightless world is now complete as her heart skips a beat

Dreams of Tuscany
With drawn lips
Portrayed like a silver chain
Where hearts surge to follow
Feathers from wings of night
Sits a poet with the stirring of light
Paints a pretty picture
With their words of life
That echoes through their corridors of their mind
Their hearts hold many sorrows riding low in life
Many battles have been won
With their mighty muse
Many blessings to each dear
Poet for all the obstacles
To overcome.
Sweet thoughts to each one that must write this very night....*


By: Debbie Brooks

They say,
Time heals all wounds,
but even my deepest paper cuts
would not begin to bleed
and so the pain would wear on
and the scab would never form
and I was never able to expel the venom
buried deep inside.

You cannot always feel the bruises,
but sometimes I push on them to feel the pain.

You cannot always see the bruises,
but that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

I dug the knife into my skin,
then asked you to pull it out
and you did not do it the way I hoped.

You did not make a clean cut,
but twisted it, ever so slightly,
and the **** was bigger than before.

I do not blame you for my injury,
and with all that time you spent in hospitals,
I guess I thought you would be better at healing.

I cannot speak to the future,
and I wish not to think of my dreams.
I had plans for the two of us
that your arms could not wrap around
and God, I wish they were holding me.

Perhaps the tears need to fall
to replace the blood I never lost,
and perhaps the pain that hurts the most
are the hopes I keep inside.

Is everyone right?
Does anyone care?
Is anyone left?
How did they fare?

How did they stand,
with their feet on the ground,
when all I ever did,
was beat them all down?
I want it to all be over.

Does it even matter?
Should I even try?
Does the past pitter-patter,
or just make you cry?

Bad memories they follow,
like a cold winter storm,
but when it blows over,
new ones are born.
I wish it were colder.

Make it a journey,
make it a trip,
live out your life,
and shoot from the hip.
Nobody knows, Nobody sees,
when your life's been well over,
and cut at the knees,
Bad memories they find you,
like a solider shoots straight,
if you dodge out the way,
you're just tempting fate.