Spark of the lark
of the tartness of truth.
Truth of the lark, that is the tartness of truth.
Truth beckons, bend of the finger.
Mind tuckers, wonders if it has the muster.
Conflict. Shy away, shy away. No face it head on.
Courage in the form of a breath, a thought, word, a syllable.
Truth in the lark, that can be quite tart.
Follow our larks where truth reigns, time releases.
Submitted as part of Jingle’s Monday Poetry Potluck