This week I shall continue with the original theme with my own version from a post I wrote some time back ( you shall find in Poetry and Prose) which I have altered slightly. I have used a basic rhyming pattern. I hope it is worthy. My entry is in bold black.
My fingertips reflect the world back to me. What I cannot see, I feel, smell, taste, and hear. I feel shadows as I reach for the sun and smell the coming weather on the wind. I’ve never felt deprived of sight even though I’m blind, but sometimes my fingers have a mind of their own. At first, I felt nothing. There would be periods of my day missing; people actually accused me of drawing. At first I didn’t believe them, now I’m awake when I draw. Despite feeling shoved to the back while something else controls my movement, there’s a wave of serenity that keeps me calm. Am I crazy, or just weak? Everyone else has their magic under control.
I hold tulips as they start to unfold, hold the wedding ring and imagine what’s gold. lift my face to the clouds that I’m told drift through the sky, sadly miss the expressions of those that walk by touch the leaves that curl brittle on trees, listen to buzzing from the hive made from bees
Fingers embrace spider webs lacy and glossy, hear as a mother shouts, finger pointed and bossy imagine the stars on warm summer nights, though never to witness them sit in the sky jump in the crest of the waves at the beach, set my goals high for things I can reach
Cannot see faces of those that smile wide, or the glow and the love on the face of a bride can hug all the animals four legged or two, won’t see the lovers face that bids me adieu painting butterfly wings coloured and frail, touch my words that are penned in braille
Visualise the flight of a woodland hawk, or the joy I would feel to see my child walk I can feel shiny, the dull, old and the new, wet my fingers on blades in first morning dew I grasp hold of tree trunks standing tall in the forests, run my fingers across sculptures and paintings of artists
I wish to see happiness in the faces of lovers, or stare into eyes of lonely street beggars love I would feel sighting a newly born babe, I cannot have this, there is no escape let me see those who share wealth with the poor, show me the sadness of those who yearn more
I feel the sunshine on a hot summers day, I feel the winter snow, slowly drifting away I see things that the sighted do not see, is it a gift or simply just me…