Blind
What would I change?
The answer's not clear.
For as many things there are I hold dear,
I spy with my eye, an error or three,
A symphony of misdirected sympathy,
Conducted by those lost
In their own self pity.
A narrow perspective reveals very little,
Our sights constrained by-
Blind spots, blind spots, blind spots.
If only we looked with a wider field,
Perhaps we would gain a greater yield-
Our efforts no longer wasted lying in wait,
For some higher power to open the gate.
But wait, but what?
The answer's not clear.
For as many things there are I hold dear,
I see us wallowing for our future to come,
As though we aren't the ones holding the gun
To our heads as we listen for the chorus of screams,
Regretting every single excruciating past dead,
As though the future's not around the bend,
As though we've lost all potenitial,
And our lives must now end.
Blind spots, blind spots, blind spots,
Once they are gone,
We can live a fulfilling life,
Prosperous and long.
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