Living a Blind Life

My hand slides down the wooden railing,
I feel splinters leap up and bite.
I notice the wind change it's billow to the east,
And the threads out of line on the string of my kite.

I feel the heat on my skin from the light of the sun,
And the smooth, cold surface of a marble chessboard.
I notice the creases and folds in my clothing,
And the line in the plastic of my T.V. cord.

I count my stairwell steps each morning,
Every footstep securely placed.
I run my fingers down the hall,
A path so often traced.

I count the cabinets, three over from the door,
To find my coffee cup and spoon.
I feel the steam from my beverage,
And break the silence with a hummed tune.

Living life blind makes you listen,
It lets you notice the slightest of sounds.
It's not all darkness and gloom and sadness,
The pictures in my mind are painted, with the things my fingers have found.