Synaptic Silence

In a world where success is defined in a moment,
We seem an anomaly,
Connected in some spiritual way
Over hundreds and sometimes thousands of miles,
Through relationships won and lost,
In deaths and in new births,
And by the almost silent voice
That constantly calls us back together.

Through darkness and light,
The beautiful maze of mystery
And the cold harsh edge of reality,
In joy and in sorrow,
On a river in which we each set our boat
With no firm plan or destination,
We pulled the other’s oars
And rowed on.

In the silence late at night,
When eyes close
And awareness fades slowly to sleep,
How often have we heard that call?
As children at play,
In finding and losing first loves,
When reaching out to each other
Was the only means to keep our sanity?

God’s voice? Who can say.
Perhaps it’s just the secrets we shared,
The loves we lost,
The dreams we fulfilled,
The failures we suffered,
Or merely the knowledge that each of us
Is right outside the other’s heart
Simply waiting to be let in.