Try. By CpSingleton © 2015
My eyes don’t see in colours, nor
In genetic shapes.
My mind is free to roam at will,
Wherever it escapes.
No walls or fenced up boundary
Will stop it in its track.
That way I can hear all around, as
Well as front to back.
You slate me, that’s your prerogative.
Words won’t make me raise a stick.
Arguments are lost in flowing blood
That runs a river thick.
I pray each day for silence to
Cloak the sickened mind and
That warm sun hugs will surround
All the sufferers it finds.
I am not a good man, nor
Even very wise, but
Each long eve, I do believe
My grave will say: he tried.