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.
