Real Meadowlarks

Posers

Dosers

Fine mark for the closers

Taking and faking

Shaking for the money

They’re not making

 

Real meadowlarks

Hidden by the question marks

Riddled them with scathing remarks

Carried away by hellos and harks

There are the lights and darks

Masquerading through themes and parks

 

Protection

Perfection

In need of direction

Truth isn’t what you see

It’s just a ghost

Between reality

 

The drug that’s green

Makes them so mean

Smiling on paper or a screen

Jealousy pops an artist spring

When they are forced to sing

Passion isn’t always in the feeling

 

Meadowlarks are so real

Colors of wonder you can feel

Elusive as they love

Tunes perfectly fit like a glove

Melodious treasure field troves

See how the lonely smoke their cloves