Will I remain in the shadows of the unknown?
Where my real self dwells in excruciating shedding
Familiar voices suggest I have overgrown
Yet my intentions appear interesting
Lost in the middle
Just like the crusaders conflict 11th, 12th, and 13th centuries
That deposited worries in sizeable sanctuaries
My paintings have become drab pictures of gray and green
Yet, like adhesive I fixed my beam
Lost in the middle
Prove me wrong that I am not who I am
Or is it because I have lived a life of a lamb?
Strolling up and down
Always never wanting to frown
Lost in the middle
But clean and clear I now see the lines in my palms
Like the furtive eyes of a freedom fighter bearing arms
I now see the picturesque bliss long hidden in darkly tinted rays
Sadly, I realize why I have misbehaved
Lost in the middle
Alas! I have gathered my distressing pieces
And mapped out this tormenting puzzle
For certain – gained clarity of life’s indices
And drowned my past and buried the huddles