There is a space that exists
Between your words and mine
Where notions are drawn
And images are born
Where tunes are hummed
And magazine pages are thumbed
Set to the rhythm of an undercurrent
Running between our thoughts

 There is a language present
In the silence between us
It can not be read
Nor can it be said
It doesn’t have form
It can only be worn
Caught in the motion of emotion
Which grows in our flesh and bone

 There is a place we go to
When the sign says “Don’t talk”
In silence we stay
Where it’s safe and warm
Far from the storm
And it’s here we’ll give birth
To a pregnant pause

 There is a person who see’s
Through the silence in you
Where talk is small
And syllables fall
In a wordless world
Where echoes unfurl
And there, held in this hand
An offer of friendship, the only sound

Written by Nic Treadwell 6/3/95

Copyright Nicholas Treadwell 1995