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Seeing

by Lucille Younger
Why is it that the blind
so often speak of eyes
and what they see
or cannot see?

Is this fixation filled
with depth and knowing?
Or, is it born of
self-deceiving prophecies,
as seeless wonders blather:
"I can see behind my eyes,
around my eyes,
over and under
beyond my eyes,"
while walking inextricably
into the great abyss?

And, if they see so clearly,
why is it they do not
deflect the speck of pain
that sits upon
their eyelids, waiting
to pounce and maim
and injure?

"I see, therefore, I am,"
they boast! But,
can it be that this
self-seeing
prevents true sight, as
landscapes whirl around them
revealing answers that they seek
to know.
Providing textures that they long
to feel,
behold ideas that tend to make
them whole?

The seeing in "I see"
has eyes,
when "see" is disengaged from "I"
and freed to search the distance of
what is.



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