The blind poet

I close my eyes hold them siezed  
feel the words upon the mental slate
on that forked road a stile to navigate  
to grasp and climb what others do with ease  
 
To sense the brail cold pips like hail  
the fractious bounce and just torment  
where is your guide in that dark veil  
none others aid in that intent  
 
dark cellar hold some vintage wine  
 dust that covered slowly clear the sediment  
smell candy floss its sticky twine  
taste the notes that sing in that ferment  
the vintner and the grape  
closed lids savour essences refined  
 
The shutters closed to elevate the glare  
twilight night and candle power inner glow  
mine shaft's coal face with your Canary's song  
your muse to steady  
her white stick tap each furlong  
 
the curtains rustle at the open window  
warm breeze of words and stanza's come