A blind procession, slow and deep,
Where shadows danced and secrets sleep.
I walked before them, light my guide,
To pave the path, where hope resided.

But whispered doubt, a chilling breeze,
Whispered of pride, and foolish ease.
"You must lead on," the voices cried,
Though sightless souls, with hearts inside,
Stumbled and fell, in darkened night,
Their steps unsure, their hopes alight.

Blind faith they held, a hollow trust,
Their boasted wisdom, a broken crust.
"We see the way," their voices rang,
A hollow echo, where truth was sang.
Yet in their blindness, lost and weak,
Their whispered prayers, a silent shriek.

The path ahead, a tangled maze,
Where light and darkness meet in haze.
I walked on, though weary and worn,
Their stumbling steps, a burden borne.
For in their blindness, I saw a plea,
A silent longing, wild and free.

And as the dawn began to break,
Their eyes unfurled, their spirits awake.
They saw the light, the path they trod,
Guided by one, who understood.
The blind procession, now alight,
With gratitude, they took their flight.

Would that I wave my hand
and gift the blooming of
spring flowers to you.
Or pray at the altar of winter’s slow fire
to melt away this frozen heart.
But a flurry of whiteout feelings  
blind me from such a pompous display
of naive romanticism.
Yet love is blind and love blinds.
Love binds and love breaks.
If you’ve lost the trail, you are the trail.
No one said this journey would be easy.
Actually, I don’t remember anyone telling me anything about this journey.
Rubber wood for legs and pursed lips
at the sound of a secret
taunting my ensemble soul from the wings.
Space enough to relay a message.
Distance enough to lose it.
The gathering at this point is a drift of tumbleweeds and the only thing
to read on the signs is rust.
So I reach down and grab a handful of dirt,
put it in my mouth, and whistle dixie
past this graveyard of doubt.
Just in time to see the last elephant
becoming the horizon
and the sun setting through the fog of memory.
That star burns in our mother tonight,
the mystery growing in the womb
of tomorrow.
“Come,” she says,
“the dawn breaks…for you.”

Love Is Fireworks
A riot of color that screams across the sky,
visible from heaven but never held.
It ****** your eye, burns your sight,
etches the face into your retina like a divine warning:
"You will never see them like this again".
It's never blindness, just an overdose

Then,
Marriage turns blind
Blind to the fire you still carry.
It sees the chores, not the devotion.
It praises the schedule, not the soul.
It forgets the spark that seared your eye
and calls the ash commitment.
Marriage doesn’t ask what you feel, it assumes.
It doesn’t look, it remembers.
And memory is a poor prosthetic for vision.

Loved but still unseen
And that is the blindness
no firework could ever warn you about.

Was it ever even real,
If the love was just a drug.
That I grabbed just to feel,
In the grave that you dug.

I really thought you were pure,
Wanted me for me.
Just to be each others cure,
But I didn’t see.

How bad it would **** me up,
The regret it would leave.
I’d be permanently marked up,
Pain that nothing can relieve.

You saved me and ruined me,
So can I really be mad.
You saved my life technically,
But I’m not even glad.

You should have let me go then,
And dissapear from everyone forever.
But then you wouldn’t be able to **** with me again,
So you kept bringing me back to ***** me over.

Once all of the weights build up
And you believe that life is just a lie
Something which you've made up
The perfect answer to a broken mind
You'll sob, you'll punch, you'll kick, you'll cry
Because then you'll know you are nothing
Nothing but blind

Isn’t it a strange concept
we hold on to someone
we fell for
We blindly fight
even if it doesn’t feel right
We lose ourselves
we feel sad
Happiness suffers
but we hold on
Love’s something mad.

L.C.

In the debate between dubbing and subbing
I side with subs to savor the original
mellifluous French, Tamil, Korean, Italian...
Reading the subtitles assists the deaf
and hard of hearing although voiceovers
benefit the blind and vision impaired.
Historically dubbing was employed
by fascist governments to advance
the nationalist agenda. In our own time
the tendency to consider dubbers dumb
implies reading’s the indispensable skill.
My wife reads her mail while watching movies
so she prefers dubs. I admire her mastery
of two idioms simultaneously
but my limited bandwidth favors subs.