Danger creeping and lurking in every crevasse; you see everything and honestly it doesn't downright frighten you as much as it disappoints or disgusts your morality. The middle of the middle, you're no longer the very top nor the very bottom of the pyramid. You still hold on to people to bring you up in the world and others hang to your physical frame hoping for the same effort.
Well wishes we send to the departed and halfhearted. Their demise being overwhelming. Their truth conquering all that enter.
In the middle. We are on the Top.
Shift or crack at the something or other. We move as a whole group, one right after the other. In a long line swaying like a cargo vessel upon the waves at sea.
Only time telling us we are lost.
Running in circles mad like a man on fire. Our heads near explosion, to much commotion leading from out there into here. Our hearts stumbling at defeat the whits ripped beneath our feet.
My hair falling and burning at the tips, we were all bald once weren't we? DO you remember the time of day, was it light or night? Did the windows shake with cold and fear? Were the children out to play. Bitten but never infected. Torn, but never scorned. We live in a village there is no one to care.
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