Perhaps there is no in between;
it’s either pitch black or light.
You inch forward or slip backwards,
fight each turn of day to night
imagining in fierce battle
you will lose your coward’s mask.
Believing in some great reward,
you ask your sword to hold fast.
There is no time for fool questions,
no need to see shades of gray.
Forget that distracting tension;
let play your guns, heroes say.
Perhaps there isn’t a middle
ground where opposing sides meet;
only space between the goalposts,
where cheats and ghosts find good seats.
18 MAY 2017
