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Apr 8
The mystic missed the mist

For he was focused on the most

The waterfall, the all, the awe

No longer just the grist, the gist

He was the mill, the real, the wheel

No longer knowing, he could fully feel

Past the taste, the snack, and to the meal

So freely given he could not hope to steal
Thank you for being. If you would like to see more of my poetry, essays, and other writings, check out my blog on Medium: https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Derrick Jones
Written by
Derrick Jones  26/M/Portland
(26/M/Portland)   
253
 
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