Morning Mystic
Morning Mystic
Mysticism is not for me,
I know that wind is blowing free,
Nor does it speak engagingly of
Memories of another time.
I read my book, yet I feel a presence,
What is this touching – barely brushing?
The atmosphere is a tricking morning.
Are you really there – oh, no you couldn’t be.
I return to my book, yet your presence remains,.
Do I hear a whisper, feel a touch, are you free,
Oh, No! You could not be, you are not free
To brush, to whisper, to curl around another memory,
Oh, no, mysticism is not for me,
A presence wanting attention,
A voice floating, bothering like an insect,
I know mysticism is not for me.
Or
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2019
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