Blind

Blind

I am blind

Trapped within a broken mind.

I am standing on a sinking iceberg,

the cold is eating into my skin,

my bones, my soul.

I turn my head

hoping to feel some tiny ray of sun,

anything warm at all.

But only ice cold gritty wind

rakes across my face

freezing my already sightless eyes

open, only the pain receptors in them still functional.

Searing freezing fire runs through my fingers and up my arms.

My feet are blocks of agony,

they can go no further.

I can hear the frigid death knell of the water coming closer and closer.

Backed up against an icy wall there is no where for me to go.

It's coming now,

my final moments.

I mourn the fact that I am not yet cold enough to be numb when I drown,

but settle instead on relief that the end of this suffering is near.

This used to be a beach, I remember.

Warm, and calm, and utterly beautiful.

Blue green water and thousands of shells as far as you could see.

High flowing blowing bluffs of every color, full of birds and flowers and green green green.

I was never cold. I was never afraid.

But then the bluffs began to frighten me, to bring me insurmountable sorrow and loss so I climbed them no more.

But the real betrayal was the storm.

The storm came upon my safe and perfect beach,

And destroyed it.

It was dark, and cold, wet,

And lost.

And I ran from my fear into the forest

and in a golden glade there was a cabin.

Just as I pictured it, it was lovely, lights in the windows, deer and birds surrounded by a rustling spectacular

array of leaves in every color.

And I ran to the door to join the happiness and welcome inside,

but no one came, and no one let me in.

The fantasy of safety I had dreamed was empty.

So now here I am,

sinking into an arctic sea.

Perhaps there is a boat nearby,

or a bridge, or a warming house at least, flares maybe?

Maybe I could have built a giant fire,

but I am blind.

In every way,

and the water is over my shoulders now and I am gasping and sinking

into a grey black Sea.