Blind Poet

When I consider,
How the Lord,
In his great might,
Ordained for me,
To be deprived of sight,
And face the life-long torment
Of an eternal night,
My searching soul and mind
To poetry takes flight,
Finding my compensation
In an inner shining light,
To purge my soul,
And stay the darkness
Of my blight....

When at my mortal end,
They'll ask me
At that pearly gate:
'Has fate shaken your faith?'
'No way', I'd say,
'They also serve
Who stand and wait.'

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2005 Alfred Charasz