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.