I walk where shadows softly fall,
Where no one looks, if they look at all,
Between the bricks, beneath the track—
Some souls are meant to slip through the crack.
A voice too quiet, a name not called,
A dream half-formed, then left to stall.
A whispered “maybe,” turned to lack,
A life that learned to slip through the crack.
The world keeps spinning, loud and fast,
Its golden ones held firm and cast.
But here, unseen, behind the stack,
We ghosts of hope slip through the crack.
But cracks let in the rain and sun—
The storm, the light, the chance to run.
So maybe lost is not off-track—
Some flowers bloom right through the crack.
So if you feel you’ve slipped away,
Unseen, unheard, too faint to stay,
Remember strength the world won’t track—
There’s quiet power in every crack.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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This poem is a haunting yet hopeful meditation on invisibility and resilience. The recurring motif of “slipping through the crack” paints a vivid picture of those overlooked by the world—quiet souls, half-formed dreams, and muted voices. Yet, the turn in the final stanzas is brilliant: cracks aren’t just voids but openings for light, rain, and unexpected growth. The contrast between society’s “golden ones” and the “ghosts of hope” underscores a quiet rebellion—the idea that being unseen doesn’t mean being powerless. The closing lines offer a gentle affirmation: there’s strength in the margins, beauty in the unnoticed. A masterful blend of melancholy and defiance. Great poem Brenda 🌷🤝