The Middle

A talented canvas is empty
The reach of miles means nothing
Art of words and music of pixels
When does yesterday yield?

I have no regrets
I find the empty love
Now people hide
It takes strength to be

The hidden strokes bend
The simple life ends
The beauty begins
The tapestry is ready

It is the masters of life
The people that control
The people that console
The people that build walls

A secondary view
A simple belief
A waste of their time
A wax with purpose

The middle ground
Littered with blood
Hidden from all
Sodden to the bone

Let it all go
Let it all be