Dusk and Dawn,
Back-Streets and Alleys,
A portrait halfway Drawn,
The center of a Valley.

I like the In-Betweens:
Those things which have begun but not Ended,
Where things are not always what they Seem
And our belief is Suspended.

A jagged Mountain grasping for the Clouds,
Not quite there but well into the Sky
Like a prisoner Unbowed,
With a jailor to Defy.

The boring, uneventful Days,
Which alienate and leaves us Whirled.
Manifested, tangible Displays,
Of the Space between the Worlds.

Life is the greatest Halfway,
It’s not so long a Route.
So I will resolve to Stay
To see it all play Out.

What’s small, is small
what’s big, is big
and all that’s in-between
is also, either small, or big
never both

But isn’t it strange?
for a louse that strolls our head
the scalp kisses the horizon
whilst for us, each brow is arched
and the earth we travel, is flat
but not for Atlas, which from above
see’s that it is curved, while his shoulders
carry the infinite plane that is, ironically
a celestial sphere
which pushes this conundrum
all the way up to god
and possibly beyond

And all things are small
and all things are big
always both thing
never in-between

Thus, we should strive to remember
when the world is heavy on our shoulders
how small, it really is
and how the universe is hidden
in the tiniest of details

And then there’s us, amidst
duality of no, and every, thing
a cusp
of zero, and infinity