Out of the Fray

Things can spring apart,

blocks burst loose and tumble —

there can be rubble,

and all the places

things used to fit

can be obliterated

You can have a sense of

no order, no place

to put anything, no place

to sit down even,

no rest for the insistent

and erratic

loopings of your mind

You can call it

a waste howling wilderness,

and that may be a clue

For everything that matters to you

is held where nothing that can fall apart

will touch it.

Its inviolability is proof

of what’s real,

its presence

what will lead you

all the way out of the fray

and on to sweet abiding peace.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 14, 2015