Mystic

My children tell me of a mystic
Living by the lake
In a green and purple house
Surrounded by gardens of giant flowers
Who takes small dreamers
On uncharted adventures where
They choose their directions and she
Finds their way

My children tell me
How she floats on the summer waves
While they play on and around her
And how she buys them ice cream
While their parents lose track of the days
That fall past them in their rush
To do everything but the thing that’s fun

My children tell me of a mystic
And they are notorious liars
Like all libertarian dependents
But I remember sometimes
Being caught in the curves of the world
That they describe
While a voice coded to my DNA
Drifted down from something like
The heavens above, to will me to sleep
In the shade of her loving form

My children tell me
I’ve forgotten the magic
That I must have once known
Having lived in the presence for so long
Of one so filled with the primary energy
Of the green filled universe

But I tell my children
Lives are only understood in their entirety
And you never really understand
Where the mystical resides
Until you live long enough
To see her
With someone else’s eyes

Copyright © CK Wendell | Year Posted 2025

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