Middle of common gathering

In the middle of the square of “it is as it is”.
We are born every day in a new war and we die in the midst of an old war.
Here, in this middle, Death is a trait of children who have not yet been born. 
As old as Ancient civilizations, layers of ashes are upon us and dreams of peace have been shattered on top of each other.
We are as hollowed as the vastness of contemporary fantasies.
In the middle where we are.
Amidst the middle of us and them.

Amidst the suspension of the future of our world.

Amidst of all this amidst

Amidst nothing.

Except for shutted eyes.