The New Mystic

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Barry Middleton

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The new mystic may speak of spring,
but is an unfamiliar way.

For spring is nothing more
than a coalescence of fevered stardust.

Without the bygone mystic,
spring is a warm and inarticulate breeze.

With no one to define it,
spring is just the sudden urge of a beast.

Spring is truly a sultry whisper
that only the mystic is roused to hear.

Barry Middleton

Friday, January 29, 2016

Topic(s) of this poem: mystical philosophy,spring,universe

poem poems spring

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COMMENTS OF THE POEM

Dimitrios Galanis 02 February 2016

You are a real poet dear Barry.I have to study your poems.

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Barry Middleton 02 February 2016

I try. I still become very frustrated that I often cannot make the poem be as I would want it to be. This particular one is close to what I wanted to say.

0 0

Edward Kofi Louis 29 January 2016

Roused to hear! Thanks for sharing.

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