Blind Man View

What is it that a blind man sees?

Without his sight, does it make him free?

After all how can he get hurt if he can’t witness pain,

How can he love if he can’t see what love contains?

Fingers upon curvatures, a choice to see what’s bad

Not knowing the difference between what he has and what he had

Because if he can’t see what’s come and what’s left him behind

Then he doesn’t know a piece is missing, not wishing to rewind

But if he can’t see the bad, how will he be secure?

Read a face with fingertips but someone’s heart he can’t be sure?

So what exactly does a blind man see?

Blots of colour, or a smudge spree?

Does he see any outlines, or nothing at all?

Discoloured pupils, running into walls.

But when blinded, all other senses increase so much more

So I guess he sees much better than he ever did before