Perpetual times do halt sometimes,
Giant leaps of the roaring sea ceases
There is no sunshine
When hell freezes.

But with open eyes, this blinded man, is sick
Been breezing through life, he now stalls.
Just crawls by inches with a prodding stick.
And does often strike a wall and falls.

Destiny, fate or his own design?
That artist doesn’t draw any more
His canvas lies bare and grey
In the dark room, he visits no more.

Hell can’t forever sit frozen tight
Nor can the rough seas be harnessed.
Some realizations :give this blind a light
And the artist him, too shall be blessed.

The winds of change do arrive
And the sea again springs to life.
The blind can now see with open eyes
The grey canvas now shows a sunrise.

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