The Middle

In the Middle we never know.
The top is a fable; a lesson,
never to be learned.
The bottom is a threat,
none too empty bottomed.
Nothing to strive for, nothing of strife.
This isn't life.
Precarious dance to stay,
but why?

In the Middle we wallow.
Mucking about in content complacency.
Awe at the hint of soaring shadows.
Dismissed as dreamers if we seek them out.
Not by them,
by us.
We count our lot on one hand;
tho we have two, and feet with toes.
We fear to learn, so no one knows.
They say the door is locked;
and they're believed, it's never tried.
One day, perhaps, we'll trip.
Stumble up in recognition

In the Middle we wither,
wasting away to sameness.
Individuals anethema to proud uniformity.
I'm no better, you're no worse.
There is no I, no You, and as such
the collective grows in obscurity.
We do only what we've seen been done.
Breaking through nothing but the hour mark.
A growing stagnation that none dare disembark
Soon I may dare, I'll push off,
try this knob.
Branded a fool, no doubt.
But...

In the middle, I'll see them all.
From above.