blind bearings, starring at the obscure, dying to see amidst a darkness that consumed these quilted eyes, with guilt, grazing beneath the skin. especially for choices gravitated on where perfect vision was clouded—engulfed, by many shortcomings. terrified of these whispers about sins of my forefathers damning me on streets as a beggar. knowing little of much save for touch, tastes, hearing and well, i heard Your voice say “go wash.” so i did, scales falling off, meeting the Light of the world.
John 9
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