Written by Lynn White
I can see you.
I’m not blinded
by your fine words
or the fancy dress
of your masquerade.
But even the blind can see
through you.
In time there’ll be pennies for my eyes
but they’re open now and missing nothing.
I know you want to hide from me,
would have me cover my eyes
with my hands
or stitch them up
to make me sightless
as death.
But it won’t work.
I’ll look between the stitches
sneak a peek through my parted fingers.
And even the blinded can see
through you.
Sightlessness
comes only with death.
Until then
we all can see
you.
Text © Lynn White
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