The Middle

Dejected to perfected—a spectrum I’ve elected

Selective, trek my thoughts weighing all the perspectives

Now collected, tip the scale, what’s projected?

Could be

A feckless speck of a man prepped to wreck this

Only pecks for success in his recklessness

Expects his neck in a pillory of correctness

Lost, done, worthless, bereft of acceptance

Of himself, dire, mired in deaf remembrance

Checked it.

Did it well, keen to dwell and reflect it

Self now swelled with the hauteur injected

Fail to quell the pomp conscience directed

Hail the tale, statues cast and erected

Til the gale swept ‘way strength unsuspected

A broken balance mistaking measurements but verified valid by itself so inerrant yet we merit as inherent as the spirit meant for cleric now heretic could be back to copacetic if we let it find

the middle

Where guilt and pride are so belittled the ego ceased to be a riddle.