in between

We were not silenced we merely spoke in between the words. We merely moved to the side line and became invisible. Stepped as if into the mists and shadows and were gone so easily. So easily that it seemed we were never there. As if by some trick we just stepped into the shadows and the spaces in between. Becoming not one thing or the next, not one meaning or another, but in a space of our own, wordless and unknown. We had to, we had to move for time shifts and becomes new things. It becomes harder then softer, quicker then slower and the world then became a place we could not survive. Not in the black and white world. Not in a world where meaning and silence explained us gone. We moved then into the cracks, into the pauses, into the silences. We talked in whispers to those who remembered. We were the ripple on the wheat and the turning of the leaves. We became vaporous, insubstantial; un talked of, but remembered in the dormant memory.

We, like flowers, fall with rain. We are the wild patterns of life now, no spectacular show, no fireworks or blazing truth. We remain in the in between, in the shape of things to come, in the high arc and the low ebb. We watch and wait and take form when we can but whisper constantly to those who would listen, to those who would hear.