Blind Poem by Igor Wolfson
Blind
And only death knows what I mean
Here comes the first of days of spring
And in this turmoil where I dim
I can not feel a thing
Not even one thing's there to write
And not a dream to follow
And there's no people in my life, there is no wight
Because I'm blind, and hollow
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: pain
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4/19/2024 5:58:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
