Between Moments

I
There is a space between the hours
where nothing asks and nothing stays,
a quiet field of unseen powers
that lives between our nights and days.
It is not time, yet time moves through it,
a breath the world forgets to take;
a place where thoughts begin to do it—
to form, to wander, and to wake.

II
We pass it by without a knowing,
too fixed on where we must arrive;
yet in that stillness something growing
reminds us what it means to live.
No voice commands it into being,
no hand can hold it, shape, or bind;
it waits within the act of seeing,
a subtle shift inside the mind.

III
It comes in pauses, soft and fleeting,
when words fall short and silence speaks;
in eyes that meet without retreating,
in strength discovered in the weak.
A moment stretched beyond its measure,
where all we are feels almost clear;
a quiet, almost fragile treasure
that vanishes when touched by fear.

IV
And yet it calls us back to center,
to where the restless thoughts grow still;
to where the soul dares gently enter
the deeper space beneath the will.
For life is not in constant motion,
nor only in what we achieve;
it lives within that calm devotion
to simply be—and to believe.

V
So learn to stand between the minutes,
to feel the pause, to let it stay;
for something infinite begins
in what we almost throw away.
And in that space, so small, so hidden,
a truth unfolds without demand:
that all we seek is gently written
in moments we don’t always plan.