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BLIND MAN

As I sit beside the road my nostrils are filled with the dust of countless ages past. I sit in the solitude of self-pity as I contemplate this prison.My prison is not one that locks me in but it’s one that locks me out; I don’t have bars that contain me but my dungeon is a world of darkness. I have often wondered what kind of face a beast that sings the song of the mourning dove would look like? I have often longed to see the petals of a flower in bloom, or to let my eyes caress the beauty of a newborn child.

Blind Man 33 A.D.

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