PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Why is it those who try and fail

are left, lost, lingering without a trail

Unable to climb up

Unwilling to fall down

The birds above silently mock

But their answer is locked

They chose not to give up

They chose not to fall down

For their answer is simple

They will stand on the middle ground

The herd below on a stampede

The birds above all filled with greed

Yes, that is it

Their path won't be through the sky

Nor with the herd who refuses to fly

They shall make their own path

Then none shall laugh

Alas they know not that,

To the birds the throne were they sat

And a hand of help to the stampede

These being the gift the world brings

And to the middle man the world gifts no heed.

For what is it that one brings

To the party of one who refuses all things

Forty-one thousand one hundred forty nine

The number of people who chose their last line

Unable to handle any path

Just do the math

How many do you think were from the middle path?