mysticism used to reside
in the thick forest cover.
It is lost now, in the
corridors of high rise towers.
Fear is shrunk into a room like us
and it is concentrated enough
to affect our weak hearts.
A mystic jingle used to be heard
from the wilderness.
But now its buzz competes
with that of the calling bell's.
The world has minisculed itself
along with the hope.
There is a slack we feel, prior
to reaching the other end of the rope.