The mystic's wine

There is much to see, in the Divine’s lap

A lifetime of page turning will not reveal a map

The senses are drunk on delectable grapes

From dense vines that give the mind its shape

A mystic’s sight is fed by a delicate vine

Hanging like long tresses from the Divine

One drop, floods our bony bowl

That holds all, we ever stole

Ambrosia flows between thoughts and words

Waiting for awareness to fly in like birds

And drink in silence

Impervious to the mind’s defiance

A mystic’s vineyard

Can never be turned into a graveyard

It is in the middle of the Divine’s lap

Called Mother Nature, a gift we never care to unwrap