On Silence to the Blind

The unseen moonlight that touches his face
Is justification enough for his
useless celebration of self-pity.
The silence makes him think about silence.
Silence added to blindness makes the air
seem toxic. The quiet is equivalent
to death slower than a burning cigar.
He thinks until a deafening siren
breaks the fearful silence to remind him
that he still remains partially alive,
To remind him that with the eviction
of sight comes the need to adjust to life
as the basket case he's grudgingly become.