Perhaps equidistance is a secret to be explored.
I suggest it’s not something,
I believe it’s not nothing,
But a perfect illusion of what comes in between.
The things that we miss at the height of a scene.
Not as grand as the sky, or as low as the sands,
The air that’s unnoticed as it flows through the lands,
The blank space.
The missed place.
The dirt between home and first base.
So the zone between up and down lies still,
Forever ignored by the human’s will,
Floating and frozen, barely windblown,
Unmoving, unrecognized, encaptured in stone.
We continue our lives, always looking around,
Condoning our nature to miss middle-ground.