Passing Through

     Passing through the crowds, a faceless face that blends in with the gray of nothing everbody sees but doesn't notice. Silent dreams cry forth from the mouth of the very real fiction filled person. A little boy, caught in the stars of books in the back of every mind he reads. A young woman, gliding on the air carried from one breath to next, alive in the moisture of you exhaled thought. An elderly walk belonging to face of a youthful old soul who dies a little every  time he lives. The writer and the painter and the dreamer and the seer.

     The ones who weren't born, are absent of flesh, but exist nonetheless on the creative notion of a play pretend life. The persons who aren't the persons who let them be seen.