Blindsight Poem by Hannah Archana Wilson

I stood upon a lonely hill,
Nothing but mist I see.
Rising up above our heads,
In inimitable beauty.

It rises up with grandeur still,
I wait expectantly.
For that majestic view,
Veiled by this monstrosity.

Vanishing in quiet disarray,
Leaving nothing but a memory.
I look around with discontent,
At my disappointment with clarity.

I long for that cloudy night,
Yet an unwritten story.
It was a shame to discover then,
The falsehood of that mystery.