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Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
Blind Willie Johnson strums six strings a day
He drinks with the woman who taught him to play
He spells out his secrets in the songs that he sings
And breathes his life onto six rusty strings
Blind Willie Johnson brings home the blues
Blind Willie Johnson will wail the blues to you

The brothel he grew up in is tearing down the walls
He's got so many memories of those smokey halls
His mama could be there or she could be dead
He's got no pictures, just anecdotes instead
Blind Willie Johnson said he don't know a thing
Except for the truth in the blues that he sings

Blind Willie Johnson ain't really blind at all
He's just got those gray eyes from years of alcohol
He stares into the smoke of a Friday night crowd
Who stare back at him as his stories ring out
Blind Willie Johnson doesn't cover up a thing
Listen to his pain in the blues that he sings

"Blind Willie Johnson" reads the graveyard stone
Under the blanket of the sky, Willie rests alone
Though his voice is lost underneath the ground
The world will never forget Blind Willie's sound
Blind Willie Johnson sang the way he felt
He never complained about the hand he was dealt
Jamie  May 2016
Blinded
Jamie May 2016
I am not blind now,
but once I was

Blind to the hate of man
Blind to your hate of me
Blind to your lies and tricks
Blind to the dying sea

Blind to the setting sun
Blind to the rising moon
Blind to the birds and the bees
Blind to the silv'ry dune

Blind to the whispers that followed
Blind to the stares round the halls
Blind to the pointing fingers
Blind to the iron walls

I was blind once,
but not now,
no.....
now I see
Cedric McClester Mar 2016
By: Cedric McClester

I took a journey in my mind
Back to another place and time
Now all I want is another line
Seeing is scary to the blind

Seeing is scary to the blind
Ya never know what you might find
Reality can be unkind
I feel the need to just unwind

The past and present gets confused
Just like the needles that I've used
My flesh was made to be abused
They say detox but I refuse

Seeing is scary to the blind
Ya never know what you might find
Reality can be unkind
I feel the need to just unwind

Now you might think that I'm insane
Cause I get off on my own pain
It's something deeper in the brain
A closer look and you might find
Seeing is scary to the blind
Seeing is scary to the blind

I feel the warmth of mother's womb
Or perhaps it's just impending doom
Could be the weight of my own tomb
So all that's left for me is gloom

Seeing is scary to the blind
Ya never know what you might find
Reality can be unkind
I feel the need to just unwind

Now you might think that I'm insane
Cause I get off on my own pain
It's something deeper in the brain
A closer look and you might find
Seeing is scary to the blind
Seeing is scary to the blind

Seeing is scary to the blind
Ya never know what you might find
Reality can be unkind
I feel the need to just unwind
Excuse me while I take a hit
Cause everyday I feel like ****
If I had sense maybe I'd quit
I  tell myself but still I find
Seeing is scary to the blind



Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.
Everything seemed to be okay
Never knew it was going wrong
If only you could give me another day
To help us still be able to belong
I was just too blind to see
Too blind to see

Never knew in what I was dealing
When all I was doing was hurting you
Should had felt what you were feeling
When your love for me was still true
I was just too blind to see
Too blind to see

All the times you were waiting for me
And I took for granted what we had
In the end I left you feeling empty
I was the one who made you sad
I was just too blind to see
Too blind to see

Please can you give me one more chance
So I can now begin to get it right
Can we try again with our romance
Take me from the dark, back into the light
I was just too blind to see
Too blind to see

Iam here begging you to forgive me
Please will you take me back once more
I will be that man you want me to be
I will never go back to how I was before
I was just too blind to see
Too blind to see
Alysha  Feb 2019
Blind
Alysha Feb 2019
Some days, I just want to be blind. Blind to the world. To the crimes, to the kinds of people that exist.


If I was blind, I wouldn't have to spend all the time trying to decipher how someone could be so cruel. How they could think it would be so cool to shoot up a school.


February 14th is a holiday, is Valentine's Day. A day of love, not hate, and should not act as the day of a shooting. Is a day where seventeen lives were lost as a result of a guy who felt a little lost. A man who needed to move on.


Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. A safe place where people go to learn without concern of dying. On Valentine's day, seventeen lives are gone as everything that should have gone right had gone wrong. I mean, come on, why is it seen as an event that everyone saw, but cannot correct? Is there a vet for people who act like dogs?


Some days, I just want to be blind. Some days, I look out of my window and see trees blowing in the breeze, and it used to put me at ease,  but those old opportunities have been seized.


Fire. Burning. Horror. Forest fires in national parks. Places were bark used to decorate trees, little did everyone one know, this was a slowly killing disease.


We didn't have time to grovel, never mind write a novel. It's too bad you have to pick up the remains out of the rubble. In the background, I mumble, “wasn’t there supposed to be no casualties?” I mean can anyone sneeze without having to bend at the knees to the ultimate destroyer. Surprise. Surprise. Don't catch flies because you didn't open your eyes and realize that there is no easy end to all of these crimes.


Some days, I just want to be blind. Blind to everything. Blind to kids my own age. From the gentle voices to the ones filled with rage.


Walking toward a Target exit and seeing a wall of missing children, half of them probably screamin’ looking for their parents, scared and searching for some flair, of hope.


Most of them most likely thought that it could never happen to them, but here they are sitting in the middle of a stranger’s den. Scared and alone. Wondering when, or if there’s is a time that they will get to go home.


You know, the funny thing is that though it might be a stranger. You might not even think that they can pose a threat, let alone danger. Think about it, your kidnapper could be a lady, old and sweet, or so you think before she starts look a little less fragile and meek. And this makes you feel weak, well this will teach you not to go to the store to buy something as simple as meat.
Another old piece. Rhyming included
I open my eyes but all I see is
Black
Blinding lack of bright color I
Try to open my eyes but all I see is the darkness of the world I
Want to see the blue blue sky I
Want to see the pink of love
The red of passion
The green of jealousy
The smile of friendship
The selfless act of kindness I
Want to see the beauty around my dark soul
The cure to cancer and all the diseases that plague the dying world I
Want to see the reason why their eyes light up their faces when mine
Rain all over my cheeks I
Want to believe in the stories told in books
Where the last seven words go
"And they all lived happily ever after"
I want to see
The simple eye contact of attraction I
Want to see the reason why people grin at the world
Want to see the colors of the rainbows but
I'm blind to all the good things in life
I'm blind to all that matters in life I
Am blind to love
Blind to hate
Blind to all the feelings because I am
Blind to the sun, blind to the night as they
Blend together in a grey canvas of hope and despair,
Of black and white
Of presence and absence
Of the reasons why the world is round
And why we have no such thing as peace I
Am blind to the kindness and the hatred I
Am blind to the great big world
As I live in my own universe I
Am a simple galaxy
Waiting for a black hole to finally absorb me in I
Am a grey canvas
And I wait.
Anon C  Jan 2013
Schau Hin (Look)
Anon C Jan 2013
Schau hin

Wenn ich sehe, wie es vielen Menschen geht
so hätte ich gern ein Neubeginn!
Es wird Zeit das ihr euch eingesteht
dass die Kids hier so verloren sind!
Schau Aussichtslos und Hoffnungslos,
denn wir stellen uns alle blind, doch wir stellen uns alle blind

Wenn andere nichts mehr sehen dann schau hin
Denn wir sehen soviel dass nicht richtig ist,/ We see so much that isn’t right
also versperr dich nicht und hör hin
Sie sagen soviel, so vieles ohne Sinn! /They say so much, so much without sense!

Was ich will
Sind Taten und kein Wortgefecht
irgendwie hat jeder Recht
haltet doch was ihr versprecht
Weil viele Menschen so verloren sind
Ausgebrannt und Mittellos!
Denn wir stellen uns alle blind
Alle doch wir stellen uns alle blind

Warum sind wir so blind
Hin Schau hin
Vielleicht wachen sie auf und
schaun hin..
Zwischen das Glück zwischen Ruhm
zwischen all' diesen Dingen
merkst du nicht was wichtig ist?
Auf der Suche nach dem Sinn
ich mach meine Augen jetzt auf und schau hin!

Look

When I see, how may people are
I would like to have a new beginning
It´s that you admit
that the kids get lost here
Desperately and without hope
because we all act as if we are blind
we act as if we are blind

When all the others can´t see anything
look there
because we see many things that are not alright
do not avoid and listen carefully
they say so many things without meaning

What I want
is action and no battle of words
somehow everybody is right
keep your promises
because many people are lost
Desperately and without hope
because we all act as if we are blind
we act as if we are blind

When all the others can´t see anything
look there
because we see many things that are not alright
do not avoid and listen carefully
they say so many things without meaning

Why are we so blind
look there
Maybe they wake up and
have a look...
In between luck and glory
in between all those things
don´t you recognize, what´s really important
While looking for the sense - for the sense
I open my eyes now and look there (watch out)

When all the others can´t see anything
look there
because we see many things that are not alright
do not avoid and listen carefully
they say so many things without meaning
This is sung by Muhabet. Something to be said here. So much pain seen in the world so many turn a blind eye and would not wish to fight for a better day. Translation I had to grab offline. I do not speak German.
AB  Nov 2016
Blind
AB Nov 2016
When you look back on it, you think:
"Those were the good times"
"She was the best for me"
"I've never been so in love"

But we're all blind.
Blind to the fights,
Blind to the tears and curses,
Blind to the way we felt
In the worst times.

Our minds hold on to the good memories,
In our minds we see only the smiles and laughs
The trips and days spent rolling in bed.
We blind ourselves to the way
Things really went--and why they ended.
We're all blind to the bad
When we want the good times back.
We're all blind to someone who hurt us.
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and naïve –
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I’m so tired –
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear –
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I’m so tired –
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus – now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out – they haven’t reached the heart.  
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you—
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already—
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured—
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow – bow – bow – bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.
Peter Balkus Feb 2018
Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.
BeeRod  Aug 2017
Im not blind
BeeRod Aug 2017
I'm not blind.
I see you,
And as you look deep within yourself
Explaining yourself
I can't help but wonder
How you miss so much
In your explanations.
How can I
See your entirety
Yet you
See pieces?

It's not just the contrast
Of your hair
Against your skin
It's not just the muscles
Or your chilling smile
It's not just the shape of your eyes
Or the *** appeal in your voice
It's not just your touch
Or what those things lead to...

It's the way you sleep.
Despite your troubles,
You sleep so sound.
So peacefully,
Like you're strong enough
to repair those troubles at night
And resilient enough
to get through another day.

It's the way you laugh
As though
Despite those things
You hate about yourself
You can still find humor
And allow yourself
A piece of humanity.

It's the way you cry
How you still have those emotions
You claim were lost in your storm
You still rain,
You still allow yourself
That rain.

It's the way you turn your head a few times to and from, when you feel that jolt of emotion
Whether it be before ***
Or in a conversation
In which you're losing.
It's cute,really,
To see your barriers come down
Even for just
a moment.

It's the emotion I wholly feel
In your kiss.
It's like, I know you cherish it
As much as I
And match me.

You see me as some damsel
In distress with you.
As though you're not enough
Like I could seek another
Like I should seek another.
As though I'm never gonna make it
With you.

But I need someone who struggled
I need your demons
I need your sorrows.
I don't want, or need
A seemingly perfect man.

I need someone
Who understands what it's like
To survive
Whilst trying to live.
I need someone
Whom shows me
Those pieces of him
While he's sleep
While he laughs
While he kisses me.

I need someone who battles with this life from time to time
Yet makes it.
I need a warrior.
I need a king.

And no, I don't need someone to fix.
I need someone I can relate to.
Someone to grow with,
You.

I'm not blind.
I see you.
I watch you everyday,
and I'm proud of you.

In case you haven't heard it yet,
Your past has made you a Phoenix.
Your current struggles
Have made you a role model.
And yes,
You make it look ****.

You think I'm blind.
Blind in love.
Blindly following,
Blindly Falling.
Have you ever thought
That maybe,
You're blind?
That maybe,
I could be right,
And you, sir,
Are trying to blind me?

I know what I see.
But do you?
Who's really blind?
Phoenix Bekkedal Apr 2017
Do you see me?
Or are you blind like your mother?


I'll ask again.
Do you see me?
Or are you blind like your mother?
Don't tell me your deaf either.
That's not the answer I'm looking for.
I would have never burnt the bridge if you had never fallen off it.
Yet you still say you have the honor to sit so happily upon a throne that was not crafted in your name.
Are you blind like your mother?
Can you not see me?
Because if you can not see me, then I have no choice but to talk.
And I'm losing faith in dancing.
Because I'm almost sure you can not see me.

Maybe you’re both.
Deaf and blind,
because I have not heard any such news from you of an inability to see.
Or maybe you’re just inconsiderate.
Maybe you’re just mean.
Maybe you’re just dead.

Maybe I’m just lost.

Now that I think about it, I’m the blind one.
I’m the one whose face is smushed into the pillows, correct?
Isn’t that how it’s always been?
The realization, dawned sun, is crushing.
I’ma wait for the set though.
Soon the moon will be there in replacement.
Just to match my blue heart and blue eyes.

And when the sun arrives once again,
to complement my red blood splattered on the tile,
I will have my wish.
To meet and beat your blind mother.

— The End —