Blind Eye

Buried Words Books lie open, wisdom wide, Maps to guide the rising tide. Pages whisper truths we seek, Yet we trample them each week. Knowledge waits with patient breath, Guarding us from near-certain death. But still we march, heads held high, Spitting at the reasons why. The ink still dries, the lessons old, Stories written, quiet and bold. Yet we chase the blaze, not the spark— Choosing chaos over the mark. So books may teach, and scrolls may cry, But humans pass their pages by. And while they walk, so proud, so fleet— The words are crushed beneath their feet.