In the harrowing float of our guilt,
Ideals of the day can be built,
Never can we turn our back to the words we spilt,
Because karma blankets our conscience like a quilt.
On the shores of our thought like nuisance,
Working for an introspective renaissance,
To find the elusive soul of our essence,
In the soils of our mindless living presence.
The wounds of growth stay eternal,
The day will never return where our serendipity seemed perpetual,
Because the beauty of our past days are perennial,
We forget to live in the present that is superficial.
The mirage that is reality is a deception;
Because our lives are ultimately just a perception.