Perfection Prose or Pose

french-braid

I am taking a different path with this photo and not continuing with my version of the Blind Sight theme this week. I hope you enjoy – open as always for critique.

Red hair braided conceals flaws
untidy wisps curl 
to softly fall
upon her cheek
highlighted with blonde
nestles amongst the
colouring from birth
pale translucent skin not a blemish
or freckle have left their mark
blue the colour worn to compliment
is she perfection
head held high
or this pristine weave merely
a disguise 
her face not turned to
show us does she smile or
does she cry
the perfect her the perfect braid
what indeed would we see…..
should she ever pass by

For-

pictureitandwrite2copy-1

Picture it and Write – I am blind but still I see

From Picture it & Write gallery   pictureitandwrite2copy-1  the pic this week is stunning! touch-reflection-creative-writing-prompt

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…