The Senses
I feel so blind
I can't see what to expect
Nothing to nourish my sight
If seeing is believing,
Where to see the beliefs?
I feel so silent
No sound is present
The words have vacated
No understanding
Is left.
I feel so deaf
The sound pressing in
The blackness suffocates
Absence so prevelant
Where does it come from?
I feel so plugged
The flowers are dull
The stench rots my core
My nose a sore
Burning my face.
I feel so tasteless
Ash filling my mouth
I look down
I see charcoal
Glowing with fiery malice.
I feel so hollow
No ground beneath my feet
The walls have gone
No finger, but glass
Brittle as air.
I feel so wonderful
Sorrow fills my heart
Anger seethes my core
Joy from tip to tip
Confusion a comfort.
Depression, sadness, grief
Are my eyes;
Irritation, annoyance, fury
Are my voice;
Happiness, jubilance, giddiness
Are my ears;
Loneliness, inspiration, understanding
Are my nose;
Pity, sympathy, passion
Are my tongue;
Love, courage, shame
Are my hands.
These emotions, these senses, these feelings,
Are my Life.
~bhscorch
"The Senses" by bhscorch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License
We actually have between 9 and 21 senses.