"sonnet68"

fires flick the mouths of untruth
dishonest words still in their youth,
a pathless path is forged ahead
as fewer voices vexed are bled.
no sense is there in lies unborn
that path is sensed from truth is torn,
to have or not, morals are best
then one best knows that one is dressed
for a right life with compass east.
restrain our dark in a hot leash
the brightest bright from dark does come
and marches to the tunes of drums:
we see that day follows the night
e'en though the night will take to flight.

 ©`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
21jul19