You come to kiss my hand my son
To pay your last respects
Is it flesh you feel in your fingers
Or the bones you’re waiting to collect?
Your voice is a winter window pane
That speaks a playwright’s lies
See your blind-man’s legacy
And all the world behind my eyes
I leave you a cardboard box my son
Build a palace for the poor
Somewhere in the sunshine
That I once found sleeping on my floor
I leave you a pocket for a bottle
And a beggar’s memory
Of the moonlight in a hedgerow
That made a pillow once, for me
I leave you a piece of looking glass
That has no mercury
The image of men
That stand with you
Will be the same as dies with me
A picture that puts no colouring
Upon a stranger’s race
You only feel the warmth of blood
As you lay your hand
Upon his face
I leave you the sound of tearing skin
That beats on a warrior’s chest
And echoes loud in Africa
In the crackle of a milkless breast
I leave you the silence of child
That waits for the vultures fall
You can hear it if you listen
In every Western city wall
I leave you a broken watch my son
So time will have no place
For only those who mark its beat
Will wear its lines upon their face
You can have the smell of autumn leaves
That rises with the rain
A pebble to hold against your cheek
And feel the sun arise again
I leave you your mother’s tolerance
That I once heard in her voice
I give you the drug of violence
Believe me son, I have no choice
don’t let its needle find your vein
It leaves you wanting more
And it’s too late when you realise
The only antidote is war
Put out your penny candle
Let the shadows rise
All that you can see
Is your blindman’s legacy
Put out your penny candle boy
It’s time for me to die
Blind-man's Legacy
The quality of not seeing isn’t limited to those who have lost the use of their eyes – we are all due to inherit the legacy
geraint, 5 months ago
Awesome work Meach.
Meach, 5 months ago
Thanks Geraint
LocoCow, 5 months ago
Wow, meach so much detail in yoiur words…..
Meach, 5 months ago
Thank you Bill