THE MIDDLE PATH

The middle path is the hardest road for a man to walk with grace

I’ve spent my life in a cold dark cell or else, well, lost in space

My heart full of peace, harmony, love, greeting each one with a smile

Or hanging out down on Hooligan Street with O.J., Erik and Lyle

People would say as I traveled their way, “There goes John; he’s sober and chaste.”

Or else they would point as I lit up my joint and say, “There goes John; what a waste.”

A fit vegetarian, healthy of frame, living on sunlight and seeds

Or making my way down to Tom’s Number 5 to score a cheeseburger with speed

Then back in A.A., at least for a day, with a promise never to swerve

Or down a dark alley, syringe in my arm, determined to fry that last nerve

It’s a struggle, my friends, to live a moderate life when your personality leans to extremes

Some said it was youth but to tell you the truth, I think that it’s mostly my genes

Nevertheless moderation’s my goal; my resolve is unsurpassed

(Hope springs eternal in the heart of a man who refuses to learn from his past)

Still this is my row, though it’s a hard one to hoe, and I frequently feel God’s wrath

When I come to that three-tined fork in the road, I’ll head for the middle path