Metaphors for the Blind

by Karen M. Raymond-Hart

words do not exist 
metaphors must be created 
for a single concept 

Pain 

I am sighted in my psychic 
land of the blind 

dripping black from my insides 
but oxygen red when my blades 
expose 

but so comes shame 
guilt 
like a thunderstorm cell 
pouring, covering the light 

the pain of my blades 
sting, but tiny 
metaphors 
for the roiling miasma 
in my psychic 
land of the blind 

hope for someone to SEE 
not just me 

as most run 
disgust, derision 
follows 
upon the heels of shame 

injured or diseased 
would someone help? 

I metaphorically bleed 
yet isolate, lone 

hang on the precipice 

safe 
yet watch, appalled 
as madness creeps on 
silent screaming feet 
and Red death seems 
graceful nirvana 

7/18/2003