tween shadow and wall

In the thin line tween shadow and wall
is found true adventure, whispering small
voices we hear in the night 
and listen to with heart open, not out of fright.
The line that is there is no line at all
only illusion that causes a fall
from the opening measures 
of this moment's place in time 
and with flowers of grace 
and hearing the chimes 
I see the line fade...
Not dividing shadow from wall 
but merging the two in one joyous call 
to be strong and loving and share all 
your gifts without fear of transgressing. 
All obstacles lift high 
on the wings of the nowhere of time 
that like the no-line are fashioned 
from fear and treated as crime. 
Look at that edge, 
feel its wisdom of knowing 
that there are no divisions 
tween darkness and light 
but only our own situations of what might 
be or have been as we travel 
the line without and within. 
Seeking the knowledge of magical line 
that vanishes whenever we seek outward to find 
ourselves in the middle of two that are fighting 
yet know that our candle of love we could be lighting. 
Nowhere is this more blatantly true 
than within the heart struggle of ego and you. 
Look, see the edges that blur 
when we look more closely to see 
them and then after that are the spaces unseen.
The line between the wall and the shadow 
is nothing more than perception 
betrayed by the false mind of ego 
who is leading the way 
because we allowed him the power 
but we can retrieve him upon each new hour 
and take into custody all his transgressions 
to build up a new world of loving and blessings.
My finger it follows the mystical line 
wondering what other secrets I might find. 
Me, hovering close to the wall that can speak, 
whispering words I barely can hear 
until shadow steps in and covers my fear 
with a blanket of darkness that falls 
with the growing light,
removing the edge I no longer can see 
dividing us--it is here no more--we are free.
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It's been a while since I felt the flow of a rhyming that trickles through pen with impeccable timing. I know not the reason when or why my head turns to words that follow each other with similar sounds and falling to pages awaiting the swirl and flow of the messages within each letter that whirls. I love how words rhyme, I always have, even though 'real' poets sneer at their simplicity and sometimes awkward chunkiness, like crunchy peanut butter, not smooth. Maybe so, but I love the flow, the sound of echo...