Times were always a’ changin.
A poem.

I’m caught
in between,
being seen
and unseen
drifting midstream.
awake
or is it a dream?

I’m in between
right
and wrong where do we
belong?
in a poem or in a song
some sang
decades ago

I’m holding
the rail
tightly today,
chasms
can appear
suddenly
catastrophically
irrevocably

I’m in between
living
and dead, the dread
of the void
can numb like Novocain
an active brain.

Chris Feb 25