My precious present is no longer one.
Why would they recluse my presence?
Don't they have a conscience?
Or did I lost my essence?
Or should I just let it be done?
Eternally my spirit has been fighting.
Why won't they let me go off freely?
Subconsciously maybe, but sincerely
Up to the extreme I have given myself completely .
But they are sure to halt off the unfurling wing.
My innings in this world is about to an end
But still, I can't indulge and popularize myself among.
Am I the seed, unsprung?
Am I the song, unsung?
Only if I was intrepid and have this practice banned.
My existence in this materialistic world is invalid,
The inhabitants here are insular,
They don't have minute for particular,
And unknowingly they have no place left to be secular.
Only if I could break their habits.