perpetually preparing

for the loss of sight,

again I walk alone into the night.

please tell me what lies beyond

the next desired encounter.

could it be glorious mornings

or the dreaded never after?

do I say what is on the tongue,

on the mind, and coursing through my veins?

will the words become intelligible,

or spill on the floor

in illegible disarray?

pleading with my mind

to harden the heart and anticipate.

the usual outcome,

my life’s story,

foreshadowed inevitable ache.

not once before

have my eyes seen that door,

the door of eternal bliss swung open.

just a lens in the peephole

that may one day

double as my coffin lid.