Vision

What the blind man sees
Is more intricate than
Any emotion deep
Or touch we feel
Without true sight
With power infinite
Sensing silent tremors
Buried in murky souls
Hearing gentle murmurs
When tender hearts spoke
With all our vision
We know neither fair nor evil
For all we know is a countenance
Feigning affection or
Shielding the devil

Empty Nest

If I were a house
I would be filled with the warmth
Of a lovingly baked ginger cake
Mingling gleefully with the waft
Of freshly brewed, enticing coffee
Slightly crumpled, sun-dried sheets
Drapes, clothes with comforting smells
Yarn, books, crafts for the mind to rest
Within the walls, a home, so blessed
Footsteps, laughter, a quick scuffle
At sundown, closed doors, windows
Will capture moments, reveries
To reflect from bare walls
When the nest is empty