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The Mystic

1. The energy is thick today;
It does not know what it wants. 

2. And the sea is violent and choppy,
And it does not know where the wind is pushing it. 

3. And the clouds are scattered and confused,
For they do not know what they want to be. 

4. And a storm gathers from the west,
And the mountains across the channel now fade
Behind a blueish-grey vale of heavy rain. 

5. The Sun may have given a glorious show on another day,
But today it sinks slowly into oblivion
Behind the thick storm clouds. 

6. A jet plane flies above,
Leaving a straight, thick, white trail behind it 
That quickly fades. 

7. And the dune grass shivers,
And the wind offers no rest,
And the clouds are died pink,
Though they still know not who they are,
Or where the wind will take them,
Nor why it will take them there.

8. And there’s a feeling of calm and rightness in all this thick energy—
like young love is just around the corner,
or like a mischievous adventure is about to begin.

9. And the caretaker ploughs
A golden field in the celestial
Realms above, and the southern
Skies now wear a purple blush. 

10. I remember the three pelicans that glided
with synchronicity upon the strong easterly winds,
and I remember how simple and elegant they were.

11. The moon grins at me sheepishly,
and the local Osprey soars above,
looking for an evening mouse.

12. And the energy is still thick,
and strange, and scattered, and tricky,
and I need to pee, but the poem isn’t finished!

13. And the ocean is still violent,
And the sound of the angry waves,
and the wind and the sound of the shivering dune grass
enters my soul.

14. The sounds and sights, and the thick, confusing energy, and the storms that gather, and the confused clouds, and the elements of the scene which have been emitted from my view all inform me, and I wonder how I relate to them, and how they relate to me.

15. I learn that I, too, am thick, and scattered, and tricky, and confused, and angry, and tossed about, and violent.

16. And I learn that I, too, glide on the wind, and I plough my golden fields, and I leave a trail soon to be dissolved, and I cover mountains with my rain, and I search for an evening mouse, and I smile sheepishly, and I am died pink from the sun that sets, and I travel along on my mischievous adventures, finding young love wherever I go.


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