The Middle Mark

            Seeking the beginning, you worry
about the starting gun.
            Stuck
in the middle, you want another out.
            Swimming
in the end, you wonder how it got this way.
            It
could be a tale, or a tune, or a beloved. The start is always the sweetest,
the strongest, the least subtle. You burn bright, fearless, ferocious.
            The
middle is where the heart is made or broken.
            A
marathon. The mysteries, the blasted myths, the meandering.
            You
either buckle down or bow out.
            Tenacious.
Of course. Tattered in the breeze. Naturally. You weather on.
            A
paragraph at a time, a calendar page a day. The middle makes or breaks you,
doesn’t it?
            The
ending—few can make it there and spell it out.
            Most
of us live in the middle.
            That’s
when it’s the toughest. When our natural ways feel like work.
            “I
want to do everything else except continue on.”
            So
says a bestselling author in the middle.
            Not
stuck but weathering on.
            Beginnings
bloom. Middle points muddle.
            And
endings, well . . .
            They
put to rest.
            Sometimes
endings can be good. The finishing point of a novel or a film or a painting.
            But
other endings can be painful.
            So
you stay stuck in the middle.
            Hoping
to survive.
            Hoping
to change it to one day thrive.
            Hoping
to keep alive.
            The
middle mark makes or breaks.
            I
want to make my soul every midnight hour.
            Melt
it down and make me move on.
            Meet
me at the crossroads.
            Then
motivate me to keep going. To keep trying. To finish and to finish well.