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Blindness.

Put upon me, if there are things

that will fit

(once there),

all the issues that you have saved,

for later days and open ended calls,

that must be solved.

 

If it were simple, and we both

know it is not,

then I expect that most would

have told you

(by now at the

very least)

how it really ought to

have turned out.

 

You have impressed me with your

perfect imperfections and I can only hope,

each held breath is anticipation of our

day, that you will find in me

broken pieces of a man

which you will adore

(in kind.)

 

We are all blind through this life.

Heads held high or low, or which ever way

keeps them out of sight, so that we may be

seen and not feared.

But in this blindness we are two,

where one would probably do,

and there is so little

(about that)

worth changing.

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Written by
paul-glottaman
40 / American
Published
Sep 9, 2011
Lines·Words
30·153
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