POETRY
Just Beyond the Visible
Like the silent echo of a song
“We do not pass through the same door twice
Or return to the door through which we did not pass”
― T.S. Eliot
Fleeting moments
gone forever,
memories like half forgotten dreams,
the eternal somehow woven through
the wildflower meadows,
the hum of bees in country gardens
and all those moments
that lift us into sudden realization,
like when we gaze at stars and know
life’s too extraordinary to be just random chaos,
too threaded through with meaning,
too beautiful
though it sometimes breaks our heart,
and there’s something always here
bringing tulips in the springtime
and the haunting cry of geese
in flight across the winter sky
even while today’s harsh and bitter winds
scatter fallen leaves near the river,
where the road is wet from rain.
And as dawn slowly brings some light
to London’s winter skies,
a poetry of silence seems woven through
the wind that flurries fallen leaves
along the darkened path,
woven through the haunting cries of seagulls
playing above the swirling river,
and woven through the stars
above me in the sky,
an eternal conscious silence
always here
before my life and after,
its poetry of intuition
a silent whisper in my heart
as starlight fades slowly into dawn,
a poetry of silence
bringing meaning into now,
an inner compass for our dark and troubled times,
with all the calm and peace
that lingers like sunlight
in a summer garden,
and when the wind and rain of life
tear the inner fabric of our being,
it’s there to bring us home into itself,
lift us into insight,
a silent whisper
bringing something essential to our soul.
The depth in us is known
when it reveals itself
with sudden intuitions, fleeting,
filled with meaning,
inspirations from somewhere
just beyond the visible
revealing the wisdom underneath
the surface of the everyday,
the knowing that can’t be said,
the unwritten poetry of life
known like love is known,
while all the moments slide into the silence
always underneath
the endless change of every day,
and the nearby slow-brown river,
far more ancient than the city,
continues its unhurried, timeless flow,
always changing, swirling, streaming,
moving with a steady pace
through the lives of those who gaze out
toward the distant other shore,
lives paused to find the sky, the wind,
the silence,
the poetry of insight
somehow touching all our lives,
the soundless song of life no ear can hear
but every heart seems to know.
Paul Mulliner 2025
I’m a writer and designer based in London, writing about life, the fleeting experiences of living, intuition, silence, consciousness …
You can discover more of my poetry on Medium here:
