Heat

Waiting for the little blind boy to realize he's neither blind nor a little boy...

It’s hard to tear myself from you, oh little blind boy
With once perfect sight smothered by sun-dried mud.
You taste the sting of Earth and declare light doesn’t exist.

Rather than scrape your blinders away
I cast my hand up to the light
Allowing the heat to radiate through my fingers onto your face.

I know you feel it.

When will you?

Reviews

[Jonathan De Elvira]

Whoa, I'm speechless now,
hope he'll realize it soon..

[Truman S. Booth]

Wow. Great image, and the sympathetic satire is powerful. Lovely write.

[MuSe Ampoule]

Ooooh! What a great start lovely lady!!! Great form and powerful tale. Hmm...acting...singing...writing poetry...You're a triple threat my dear!