Life, as it turns out,
is the only thing that matters.
We found out later
that we had gone through years halted,
an arm, perhaps, behind our backs,
some other essential element
not fully activated

We watched our thoughts scrambling
to make it right for ourselves,
to justify our failures or to vindicate,
to seek a truer path
or to decide that it’s too late,
to let the whole conglomerated
thing we’ve called our lives
keep tumbling along its haphazard course
to whatever inevitable end
the fall line has in store.

But the only thing that matters is Life.
Life that chirps above the traffic’s roar,
that unfolds in holy intricacy
beneath the ground,
that blesses odd moments with swift streaks of delight,
that rests us gently on the pillow of dreams
and rises in us, a constant consciousness,
the tenderness that takes us by surprise,
the love that keeps us opening our eyes.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2016