Blind

Eye no longer see
Rainbow, iridescent, auras.
Child like, lost belief
In all things made of magic.
Lips no longer taste,
Summers promised bounty.
Stays rotting on the vine, to waste.
Doesn't that seem tragic?
Hands no longer feel
Caresses, soul deep connections.
Hope, harshly, brought to heal,
Turns the mellow manic.
A tumultuous un-meeting of minds,
Wrath in the rendering;
As the entwined de-combine.
Darkness feeds the panic.