To the poets who stand against the current

To the forerunner we’ve left beaten down

I pray that the blind find their letters
filling in the scenery,
with not what they see,
but drawing in the lines with what they remember and seek

It is the poetic who write the Psalms
buts its the blind who profess the praises
I can only dream to be blind
and seek with my heart
struggling in agony
Then to see with my eyes
and be content in what I see
drowning in apathy