* * *

The Mystic

“I am a mystic.
And maybe,
You missed it.
I seemed too light …
Shined too bright.
Felt the cold chill on a firelight night.

And read the embers …
Name by name.
And how they moved,
Thru the orange flame.
I am a mystic.
A jumper.
A flyer.
I can taste true love.
And I,
Can smell a liar.

But I don’t stop for the mundane quirks.
There,
Are bigger things in a mystic’s work.
So I fly above.
And touch with my wings.
Barely there in the wind.
Looking,
For bigger things.

I am a mystic.
New and so old.
And I will live on.
And many stories,
Will be told.”

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Written by Lucia Sullivan copyright 2020 all rights reserved

https://www.psychicluciasullivan.com/

Click on above Link for Lucia’s website