Blind

If I could see, I might not go.
And then, perhaps I’d never know.

But I do step into the night,
As half a story fuels my fright.

A story that turns on a dime.
Imagining, now, oh, how I’m . . .

The limits of my perspective.
Me and you and a collective.

The evolution from this to that.
With no idea what we’d begat.

But here we are in quite a mess.
An impetus for progress.

Does not feel fine, does not feel great.
This line in hind that’s always straight.

On this, I stagger in my binds.
Yokes of obsession and resign.

This self and it’s many levels.
The angel couraging its devils.

Why, oh why, can I not see,
What this has in store for me?

Why, oh why, am I so blind?
Is this a flaw or by design?

Another step into the night,
Of doubt, of fear, of shame, of spite.

With no idea what I don’t know,
Except, for sure, that I must go.