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.

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