From my homily for the Fourth Sunday of Lent:
From birth his eyes had never
seen his Mama’s face
as she held him in her arms,
with tears
for the blind mistake.
Or his Papa’s worried love
as he came through the door,
those sights his eyes,
never did behold.
He had never seen
the sun
shining gold
through the trees.
Never saw 
the birds
In Spring’s green joy
to wing.
He never saw the grapes
at violet harvest crush.
Nor see the red of wine,
to cheeks bring a blush.
He never
but felt,
those who at him
long would stare.
He heard,
but never saw
those who at his faults,
would glare.
He never saw a smile,
for a job, that he had done.
He never saw a dog
that with a child did run.
No color he liked best.
For black was all he knew.
The thought of red or green,
he could not even construe.
He never saw a friend,
with him together sit.
Never saw a laugh,
a smile,
or a loving kiss.
The awe of holy places,
in beauty white and gold,
his blinded eyes
had never to behold.
The orange and red of sunrise,
awakening in him hope,
his eyes had never seen.
Darkness only spoke.
So that day 
in darkness,
he sat along the way,
begging for the alms
that might his hunger stay.
The commotion he did hear.
A crowd was coming near.
He hoped some coins might come.
But better did he fear.
Alms of pride and arrogance,
more likely would be flung.
The crowd he heard go quiet.
A man he felt nearby.
And in the blinding darkness
The sound of spit
did fly.
He never saw the hands,
he only felt.
The mud upon his eyes,
a strange, 
but holy help.
The Voice, 
The Man,
did say, with words
of love and hope.
the pool of Siloam go,
for there to wash and pray.
He stumbled to the pool,
to the waters edge he went.
The mud
he washed away,
in faith’s
blind assent.
His eyes,
he then did open.
And looking
he then saw.
The light,
The day and
in wonder and in awe.
What followed happened quickly.
he saw,
he was seen.
The people were amazed.
To many
it seemed
but a dream.
But others were unhappy.
They did not 
They judged
this man so sinful
his seeing
they could not stand.
His critics now,
he saw,
their righteous
The man born blind,
he saw.
In humble truth,
he spoke.
“The Man who made the mud,
and to my eyes did place.
His Word I did obey.
And now before you face.
I do not understand.
But blind,
yes once,
I truly was.
But now
I know that Man,
a Prophet
is to all.”
So out they did him throw.
And hatred,
he did see.
Out into the streets,
from blindness did he flee.
Outcast once again,
alone he did go.
But streets no longer dark,
he walked, alive 
in hope.
A Man,
he then did see,
who smiling,
toward him came.
The Voice
he recognized
t’was He
the mud had made.
And looking
in His eyes,
of He who saw him blind,
he heard
His Words
and saw the Son of Man
and Love.
Lord come
to us
blind also.
So clearly
we think,
we see,
the sins, the faults
of others,
then whispers spread,
with glee.
we proudly see ,
ourselves so better 
for to be,
in holiness and deed,
in loving charity.
But. truth be told
and heard,
we’re really in a mess.
So please Lord,
Please do come,
Bring light to our darkness.
My eyes do cover all,
with mud’s humility,
that at repentance’s pool
your mercy may then free
and open wide our eyes
to truly love and see
each other in Your Light
but most importantly,
Your eyes
Your smile,
Your Love,