The Becoming


I’m not the beginning nor the end, I’m the middle where excellence and
mundanity collide,
Where mad love and indifference mix, where hunger and satisfaction commingle.
I’m neither the head nor the tail, neither the sun nor the dark rather
I’m the grey slit of moon that lights the winding journey of your feet.
I’m not love nor hate, I’m unfeeling and I do not become nor fade but
I simply am.
Neither guilty nor innocent but merely a tool, a weapon, the spoon
with which you are fed, the veil with which your weeping eyes are

I do not love or hate, I do not cry or laugh

I’m not born,I do not die and I have no bravery or fear no breath and no voice
I do not come or go rather I’m for ever still, for ever waiting
And bedraggled and befuddled as you happen upon me
Do you kindle my departed soul and bewitch me
And suddenly there’s passion, there’s breathing and fear
Suddenly there’s hoping and mortality, there’s ecstasy and pain
There’s liberty and captivity, there’s culpability and choice
And the middle is no more as between beginning and ending
I chose to begin with you

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By Mark Abraham



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