Light of the Senses
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|LIGHT OF THE SENSES
Each note is like a moonbeam in the night,
More visible in darkness than in light.
You sing with closed eyes; I must sing with none.
Yet equally we would shut out the sun.
For music, like one's passion, seems to be
Purer when there's nothing one can see.
The melody is no more sound than touch.
My fingers sing; I press the keys with such
Grace as I can hear within my heart.
So beautiful to be consumed by art!
Though vision might be wonderful, I know
That I am who I am only so.
I do not need to see or even hear,
But with a well-trained mental eye and ear,
I have an orchestra that plays within,
Ready every moment to begin.
The music issues forth like God's first light,
Filling with its radiance my night.
My hands are my sophisticated eyes,
Knowing better where the spirit lies
Within the shape you survey in the light.
Touch is far more intimate than sight.
I feel by feel the feeling that the form
Wishes to embody once it's born.
I write about a world I cannot see
In images that are part fantasy,
Drawn from other senses that I use
As both my passionate eyes and choral muse.
None sees the world unfiltered through the mind.
Mine is no less lovely, though I'm blind.