This middle life,
Not here nor there,
Wanting past,
Waiting future,
Never feeling present,
Blank and unaware.

Is this what has become,
Of little burning flame,
Fiametta snuffed,
in fear and shame?

Once touched in love,
Baptized insane, yet,
Never fully formed,
But pushed away,
By the same.

Distracted now,
From the holy source,
which once was known,
Like instinct of being,
Lost now, infinite,
escaped orbit.

A child more wise
Than kings,
Goes under blanket,
Vanishing screen,
Never to appear,
Until the next,
Karma dream.