A blind fish
circles the black waters
of a subterranean pond
and gasps for life

but sees only
the slippery surface of scum,

hears only the rippling
of echoed denial,

believes only
this hollow cavernous prison
and forsaken pool to be
true and real.

~

  Can a blind fish grow legs
and hobble toward life-light
he doesn’t know exists?

  Might he shed scales
of limitation and imagine
something never seen?

  Could the smallest light
reflected prick and raise
some buried memory?

  Could hope resounding
from cave walls
awaken slain belief?

~

Gawking tourists
circle ‘round to gaze down
upon curious, condemned creatures
and consider,

but see only
what they do not wish to be,

hear only waves
of sorrow yet to engulf them,

believe only
that this dark life could
never eclipse their kind,
enlightened ones.