Buried In Between

Waiting without pausing for breath
With wasteland deep inside
Dust that can't be washed away
By merely sounds of rain
Every single droplet
Seems so tangible
Hope can be a quicksand
Or salvation from a fall
As tears are falling
Rain is a bridge to relief
As you beg for this moment
Which always comes too late
Born for ground, not for water
Meant for living, not for thinking

When changing ground for water,
We will drown one day
And only wolves will guard our coffins
Among thorny, desert myrtles
Where world is not ending
And hell's not beginning

We often feel like caught somewhere in between: in our emotional life or when reflecting on human existence. Lasting in a deadlock, always on the border and never on one of the sides, we wait for a change. Furthermore the torpor caused by our indifference, fear, anxiety as well as by lack of courage and endless waiting overtakes us. We should realize that acting numb is just surviving, not living. There must be something to push us out of this impasse. Are we alive or just breathing?