A sign sighs wearily in the brief breeze

The sound familiar, you glance up with ease

Giving your attention to what has never lost it.

The Middle.

The sign never changes, never newer, never older

Something just as plain and weary as you are here.

The Middle.

The cruel reminder of your never ceasing journey that gets harder with each step,

Knowing that you’ll never be where you were again, see the blood that has been let.

The Middle.

Too far now to turn back, too far back to understand,

Quite where you are headed, where you’ll land.

The Middle.

The sign mocks you, swinging easily, it’s journey already complete,

You’re tired of it, you’re tired of everything, but you get back to your feet.

Because you know, life isn’t about where you end up, mostly because we are not signs,

We don’t just swing and sway in the breeze, no, we’re past that lie,

You shuffle, slowly at first, understanding that this is what builds you,

The journey that gets you to where you are going to.

The sign creaks and groans on its easy ride,

And you know, deep down inside

The sign isn’t content, with bringing people like you down,

That’s never been its intent

So you ease your frown, understanding that the key doesn’t revolve around being stuck…

It’s finding your way out of the muck, moving past the conundrum, the enigma, the riddle,

And knowing you have the strength to move past

The Middle.