what do we call this day?

picture this:

humans toiling over sincere projects,

far from acting like pieces of work,

inching towards generosity,

without breathing in abysmal notions.

but with egotism ensnaring me,

what do I paint this with?

I want to live in strength and spright,

but you keep modifying me

with reality possessing dying embers.

away from cynical manipulations,

I want to eyeball people drowning themselves in nobility,

not setting in motion the vicious cycle of qualms,

in which diplomacy illustrates the opposite of oaths taken.

I want to evolve,

but you keep modifying me.

                                                -isha

pearls to dust

not forever wanders the day,

when the sky's at its bluest,

in mild shades of summer,

with trees at their greenest.

hanging leaves not forever quiver, 

through the howling wind of chime,

light of the sun grows dim,

like the grudges you hold prime.

not forever is your breath robbed,

when damp pages flutter on dusty guitars,

not forever caresses the breeze,

nor do the nights devoted to counting stars.

                                                            - isha