Reading howdiditbegin's journal

I can imagine you've heard
this before read them perhaps
in a bathroom scrawled on the door
Some days can repeat like the days gone before
Did they begin with
heavy a slumbering then
Fumbling in chairs
which you've sat in for years?

The poor they will climb
are made to find purchase
are made to find love

My fingers they button
But gone are my wits
And you live in silence and bury your gifts
I can remember
But they fall away quickly then quickly
they go, they go into the ground

So the road as it clears my
feet shift in the dirt
Will the flowers still bloom
When the bees disappear?
The verse and the rhyme
I wrote on my shirt
Were meant for no ears
I hear a whisper

Do they blind strive daily to believe in a world they cannot see?