Particles move beyond
molecules surfacing
the eddy of discontent.

War winded verse
measures moments in
half light,
obscured by wanting whistle
within the luminosity
of those who have.

There is no risk ventured
on my path to whole;
wrangled beneath
such restlessness.

Yet the beauty
in a rose petal moves
my senses to wonder if
I need be seen in Braille.

Copyright © 2007
Pamela A. Lamppa
(All Rights Reserved)

Poetry by Pamela A Lamppa
Read 826 times
Written on 2007-04-16 at 15:54

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Zoya Zaidi
What a lovely way to empathize with the blind, dear Pamela!
Love, Zoya

IT need be seen in Braille also works, for imagine what the rose appears to be to the blind --as your own beauty might appear to a blind beau. One of my investigated themes that recurs in much of my own writing.