Written after the blindfold exercise on an Arvon course.
Walking with a blindfolded companion,
I led him to a pile of cardboard boxes,
He touched them gently first, then recognised them
And turned away to look for other things,
Much less dreary things, not quite so dull,
More lofty things, more serious and more spiritual,
Things more clearly inspirational.
How very sad, he didn’t see the magic
Lurking in that pile of cardboard boxes,
The world-wide wonder of the things they’d carried,
The glory and the splendour of the trees
Sacrificed then processed to make card
To fabricate those cardboard citadels,
But he was blindfolded and I could see.
A child, the child in me, given those boxes
Would make them into castles, haunted mansions,
Ennuit igloos, cars for racing drivers,
Plains Indians tepees, carriages or trains,
Space ships flying me to other things,
More lofty things, more serious and more spiritual,
Things quite clearly inspirational.
© Lynne Joyce, 17-8-1993