A/N: Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, b3 - over 500 word poem.
honey blind
There are blinkers over his eyes and heart, his soul and mind
And he can pretend they're just cool sunglasses to block out the glare
except the sun's gone and winked out, and he doesn't own sunglasses;
no point when he can just pull the cap up over his fringe
to shield his eyes
But caps don't add a film layer before his eyes, and he's not a blind bat
to need prescriptions – at least, not yet; apparently it's genetic
and the curse of their generation: computer screens and the rapidly dropping
price of sugar and oily foods while the fruits and vegetables keep on climbing
up and up that means more than half of them will wind up with diabetes
and the loaded baggage that comes along with it.
Right now, though, he's wandering aimlessly with a blindfold
but there's no donkey to pin tails on, or piñatas to smash
and he ain't got a stick in his hand to smash it with, or guide him
like a blind bat, a blind man; he's got blinkers on
so he can't see a thing, and there's no guidewire
to tell him otherwise, no ambient sounds, no cool breeze
on his hands or face.
It's a vacuum and maybe he doesn't need physical blinds
in a vacuum, because there's no air, no light, no sound
and it'll crush him, slowly; it'll shield him from the noise
as he crumbles, because they're that pathetic: they can't hide
in a vacuum, because it'll choke them and crush them
and suck them up like dust.
They need to breathe. They need light just as much
but there are blinkers over his eyes and heart, his soul and mind
and, in a blink, he wants them off
but they won't come off. They're there
and they're there to stay, because he didn't take good care
when he had the chance and now it's too late:
there's no laser beam, no sun to fuel it's rays
to burn them off his eyelids, and no breeze to knock them loose
or water to wash them off: they're stuck tight
and even when he starts to scratch at them because he wants them
off off off
they stay; they're stuck for good.
He can't pretend they're cool sunglasses;
hell, he doesn't even want sunglasses; he wants to see the light
he was chasing, he wants to keep on chasing –
but isn't that the whole problem? That he stumbled while he chased
and it all slipped away from him
and the vacuum came up from behind?
The blinkers came up from behind too; the guy with the blindfold
so did that mean someone would take his hand now and lead him?
Or would they abandon him here, to be crushed by the dark walls
of his sightless prison, where even his voice didn't leave a lasting echo…
And then there was a light, and a voice: a sweet honey voice
and a hand reaching out to him
And he still had blinkers over his eyes; they were still stuck
but instead of glue, they were stuck
with honey instead.
