Braille

Braille 5/29/2010
Along the wall are little bumps
From some disease, like zits or mumps,
Like codes for some small, mute society
Left hidden there at the back of the library.

And each dot seems a useless blotch,
A blemish in a well-wound watch.
To some it's just a background hum,
Some quiet static or someone's gum

That's under a desk at the back of the library.


And yet, these dots can somehow bind
The outside world inside the mind.
They tell of stars and fire's spark,
Small lights inside a world of dark.

Yet we are blind to see them there
As if we're blinded by the glare
That blinds the ones who see them in
The darkness there beneath their skin.

And some of us will pass them by,
Just like a spider or a fly,
Or crack some jokes about it all,
About the zits along the wall.