by Tom Bajoras
Into the sun, I stare unblinking,
With face like stone and mind not thinking,
A stone may grow a face, but it has no mind;
it cannot see but is not blind.
If only all the blind could see
and grace consumed all jealousy—
But jealousy embattles grace,
and words of hope have been erased.
The mind is gone, and in its place
is a petrified unblinking face.