Painting

Blinded III.

"Blinded
author's poem

The blind roam through the world
like soulless wooden dolls,
their whole life lived in a single word,
without true depth or calls.

Enslaved by their consumption’s chain,
they trust the order of today,
claim reason rules within their brain—
I can’t help but laugh away.

The level of their consciousness
remains so very small,
anxiety, anger, hopelessness—
they know them all too well.

Yet outwardly they wear their pride,
that steers their every stride;
their rage erupts from deep inside,
and keeps us all as tied.

Competition, conflict, war—
the stance: “It’s me against you!”
Where’s the lost morality’s core?
They drown it all in liquor’s brew,
and linger in their rue.

Who will open up their eyes,
and strip the band of white?
Who will turn their hearts to rise
and show them love’s own light?"