Cloth of Choice  

Some days are spent in imagination
Some melt the pride.
Powerful and ticking seconds do not wait.
There is a feeling of waking up late
And performing the improper choir of time.
Metaphorically, rising is a gift.
The world has a makeup
Its wounds are scars of passing hours.
We open our arms and embrace
We stand the test of passing minutes
Till we become a tested blowing air
Gone directionless.
Finding the way is a meaning
Clinging to the last cliff of difficulty.
Let’s learn to breathe for one more mortal life,
Let's forgive for one more accepting while.
Tempests teach a lesson to the sea
The torch bearer knows the night.
Direction is not a void unless
Determination is a cloth of choice.