I've heard spirit songs rise from the wells of hope.
I've heard helpless cries from endless caves.
I'm deaf sometimes, but for sounds of a lonely God.
I hear what I can't see, the music of a summer rain.
Don't sing from a bottomless well.
I can't see in this endless cave.
I only hear when I'm blind.
Don't cry for me, for you. For sight or sound.
Poetry Pantry #412
17 hours ago