Poetry of a Blind Girl

painting

painting

I'm not in the middle of a vast field

Nor am I in the middle of a desert

I'm not in space

Or under the sea

Why would you think that?

I'm looking deep

And I'm looking hard

And I can't tell

What's warming my heart

I am within the gentle brush strokes

And the careful train of thoughts

I'm trapped inside the imagination

Some acknowledge these fixtures

Most do not

But that doesn't matter

Not to the creator

A creator is someone who brings to life

The magic the mysteries the wanders

That they held in their head

Until It burst

And when it did that's when I came here

I escaped from the creators head

Through it's paintbrush

And now you see me