Number 26

I listen to the grass grow, taking notice of each individual blade
I listen to the rain, tap dancing to its own jazzy tune
I listen to the wind ripple against my ears, speaking a subtle tongue
I listen to Robbins and Blue Jays, rapping the day's good news
I listen and touch streams as they stream through me
I listen to the rustling and snapping of branches, pooping like firecrackers
I can think of only one phrase
It's beautiful

I bother to take a listen for
I can no longer see stars glisten their Morse code
I can no longer see the gentle snow melt against my warm skin
I can no longer  see lightning paint itself against the black canvas of night
I can no longer see the mountain peaks jutting through the clouds
For empty darkness shrouds my vision

It was not my decision to wake everyday into a state of sleep
I wished that light would creep into my pupils and fill me with sight
I longed to gaze upon images that were taken for granted
I longed to be able to re-distinguish day and night, the sun and moon 
I hoped and wished that it would return soon

Alas, I have grown to appreciate and accept my condition
You see
It puts me in a position to create a world of my own vision; how I see fit
You see
you can steal my sight but mental imagery
can never be taken from me.