Forty winks and now
we see you,
until we don’t
lest we are mistaken
we have awakened.
The sun stays hidden
as we pretend
night is at an end,
and a new day begun.
The winking does not end.
The winking does not bend
the light enough to hide its glare
crouching low behind the clouds.
Would it be wrong to open eyes wide
on days like these
bathed in cloudy skies?
Seeing truth shining bright
might justice be the finest light.
Stop winking.
annarino writes 