Blessed Are The Blind Poem by Frederick Francis

So blessed are the blind,
Those who can see with eyes’.
Those with no insight into mind.
It is this sight I despise.

To not see through this lens
That makes the image sharp.
My well being it offends,
And on details makes me harp.

I always see the subtle tells
That give them away.
Their secrets they spell
So that it causes me dismay.

The practice forced smile
Where the lips almost quiver.
I would spot it from a mile,
So much warmth you’ll almost shiver.

A random generic term
When they can’t recall your name.
You weren’t worth the time to learn,
You hold no prestige or fame.

The conversation flows
Like a dried river bed.
On and on it goes
With nothing meaningful said.

You turn and say “goodbye”;
The words dripping with relief.
“We’ll talk again.” You lie.
You’re time gone to this thief.

I wish to never know
That it’s me some despise.
But I can’t help what they show;
It’s the curse of my eyes.

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