The truth is the sun that shines bright,
in a clouded sky, a proud knight.
The truth is a shrouded bride,
her ambitions tucked away in plain sight.

The truth is a tiny little insect that crawls,
a lion that stalks, and a phoenix that falls.
The truth, yet, rises again,
looks you in the eye
and lies a great many bargain.

The truth is murk.
The truth is mist.
The truth, it is, placid bliss.
The truth is clear as the evening star.
The truth is near every far.

The truth of mist and murk and bliss,
of evening stars and a stolen kiss.

© achillesheelpoetry, 2022

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