Sight.

Sight

I sit down to write the poem
Knowing what I want to say
But with no idea of how to
Speak of the fear of losing
Sight. Are there words for the dark
We imagine or maybe it’s absence
Of light? It’s a lurking presence,
This dread and the knowledge
Of my sure dependence
On a single, fragile sense.

I sit down to write the poem
And close my eyes to think.

Lines: 12
Free Verse

Like all my poems, it doesn’t rhyme, at least, intentionally. The fact that there are rhymes all over the place in it is entirely accidental. Honest. I never count syllables either although, trying it after I’d finished, I noted a tendency towards seven in most of the lines. There is no significance in that, I’m sure. If there is a unifying factor in my poetry, it is that it is designed to be read aloud.