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I Am Blind, But I Am Not Deaf. I Cannot Speak, But I Can Think. And I Have Only But One Cure

Updated on December 1, 2011

This was originally posted by my mother, but I am now going to post it onto my account..

The tears are streaming / The inside pain over whelming / I listen to them hiss, / I listen to the dying men scream. / And all I want to do is make them quiet, / And I do.

And I close what's left of my eyes, and focus my ears/ nothing but my fingers gliding across the beautiful ivory keys and / I play my piano.

The music is overwhelming, calming and peaceful / I know every note so well, / it's as if they're playing themselves / The perfection is the beauty of it, / It's what keeps me going. / Every new note a suspense, / foreshadowing the next one and so forth.

My mind becomes still / my difference, my weakness and my imperfections become anonymous / and I am actually for once a person.

They tell me to shut the case / I want so bad to shut my self, / Encased in thick wall / far from everything that I have known. / Far from this war / far, far from the cruel world its self / Filled with no noise / But my music.

My fingers fly across the board / And now I, too, am flying / And I feel like, for the first of many times again and to come, I am meant for something, / but I'm not.

Fire. Taken by me.  ©Sarah Haworth. ©2011.
Fire. Taken by me. ©Sarah Haworth. ©2011.

The piece finishes / so perfectly / so silently / so grudgingly / and oh so smoothly / and again, I am astonished at the piece; / the piece that I created from nothing.

And then I open my eyes / engaged in the darkness, / I readjust to what I am, / to who I am, / and to where I am.

I longingly wait, / ever so patiently / for the moment / again, when unrest stirs me / and in my agony, to play the piano / which soothes my soul and mind.

If without, / when I come to cry, I would fade, / I will fade.

Slowly I will disappear, like many before me. I shall not be missed. When I am gone, the difference in the world would be that it is one more voice quieter.

And when it comes to the thinking of my death, you shall remember that I died in peace. I died in honour, and I died with pride of who I am. You shall remember my vivid memmories of my own creations of music. And I hope that one day, you too, shall hear them.

Fair well,

A blinded soldier in a war

© Copyright February 2011 Sarah H.


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