Never Knows Best

I once spoke verse with a blind man
He said he dreamt in black and white
Memories of color had bleached his soul
a veil of soot impeeded his ken

I cried for him, to cleanse the haze
the charcoal flowed like artists ink
that night he dreamed with vivid color
weping until the sun came up

When he awoke he shouted “Fool!”
And cursed my heart’s naive intent
“What beauty is red thats made from blood?”
“What merit has green of envy and lust?”

He ended life with a fistfull of pills
I found him drifting away in bed
I begged of him what ire he held
“Thomas…” he called out, “never knows best.”

-Thomas S.E. Gagnon-

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