Safe and central, unconflicted.
The fulcrum may rest easy here,
but experience teaches change, not stasis.
You can't know middle ground until the end,
As only Hindsight knows these mysteries, and she's not telling.
With backward glance, I gently tick
the wayposts toward the tipping point,
and pillowed graceful glide to Vision's End.
With wavering grace, we walked that tighrope,
shifting weight and weathered blows
in thin, responsive slippers.
Parasol askew, the world tipped,
revealing safety's net as false and unsupportive.
Odd that failure has its own beauty.
Each small setback like a wrinkle
marring porcelain skin's perfection
but with purpose and design.
I've got more character now.