There will always be a pause,
because the loud shrieks and clamor
of all that tries to claim power
are not continuous, cannot sustain themselves

They start and stop,
as earthquakes, wind, or fire,
as sobs, as tirades, as things hurled,
and there is always a pause —
a curling up, the empty end of a breath,
the spring uncoiled, the flat repose of shards

And in that silence
still as winter, still as ice,
the crystal music will arise

It fills the whole field instantly,
interlocks the harmony of molecules,
sounds the depth, the space, the peace
that owns the matrix of existence

There always is a pause —
and everyone can find it —
that leads us to our home, infinity.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 3, 2019