House of the Blind
They see what they want to see
They scrawl into dark places in search of light
They are scribes of a promised rainbow
That so far hasn’t appeared after the rain
Still they hope, still they believe
They know what they know
Their faith is a thing hoped for
A reality not yet beheld
They revel in meaning
Although, not clear to the world
They are partners of spirit and blood
They perceive things, they hear things
They touch things, they taste things
Their senses are sharpen to behold signs
They belch at scientific reasoning
Their king is not of this earth
Their gathered voices sing like church bells.
To a phantom on high
They debate if it is male or female, black or white
They war over its true name
They see what they want to see
They have candles where there hearts should be
Their souls are wicks of flame
They believe these wicks can never be snuffed out
They sing in their pews in a collective voice
They see more than humanly possible
They see with stained glass pupils
They see with irises of paper windmills
Turning with hands clasped together
Skin cathedrals arched towards the sky
Now I see
Marchell Dyon is a thirty- nine year old disabled poet. She believes her disability has inspired her creative spark. Her poetry has been published in Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Blue Lake Review, A Little Poetry, Medusas’ Kitchen, The Stray Branch, Strange Horizons, Mused Bella Online, and Convergence Literary Journal. Her latest work in forthcoming in Torrid Literature Journal 2015.