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It is what it is,
and, it’s not what it was.
You live how you live,
and, you live it, just, because,
the world keeps on spinning,
no matter what you’ve got,
irrespective of your innings,
or, the leopard’s, unchanging, spots.

It is what it is,
and, it’s not what it was.
You relish all of your gains,
until, you’ve really earned a loss.
Your frown envies their grinning,
and, the hunger yearns for the pot.
A good hiding spurns a skinning,
and, the fur coat, slyly, smiles at the fox.

It is what it is,
and, it’s not what it was.
The worker resents building pyramids,
until, he clambers to the very top.
And, while overseeing the underpinning,
loses, a sandy thread, at a deserted cost.
Now, parched, he searches for a cup, thats brimming,
but, all the oases, have long dried up, forever lost.

It is what it is,
and, it’s not what it was.
Your finite time, atop a blue ball,
will leave you, out of pocket, in more ways, than one.
Your loss, and, their loss, outweigh the winning,
you’ll only, ever, know, you’re here, until, someone you love is gone.
As, those echoes of the past, keep on, dinning,
and, you reminisce, on, how, their voices shone.

©poormansdreams

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