They came to me
Unknown on the changing wind:
Brought forth by a slow, approaching tempest,
Yet the lightning's hand was kind.
And into my soul, it gently menaced.
Like dust in the wind,
they came forth,
And I hit the point of no return.
To feel these words that set my heart afire with their worth,
From fields to seas, to flight, they made me yearn.
They came forth
into the wall of my mind
And broke it down with something of the magical.
Leftovertures of a time soon gone away, they encased it in the beginnings of a thick rind.
They made it glow with a lamplight symphony; they were certainly of the radical.
Into the wall of my mind,
the Icarus flew
In skies of gold and crimson,
On the lonely wind, the south wind, in it blew.
I wished to climb the mountains of the sky in clouds of amber as they gave me an audio vision.
The Icarus flew
when the mighty winds blew
Amongst the grass as it danced and swayed,
Through the sighs of my soul it would go
In games of pleasure and dreams, which upon my heart they played.
When the mighty winds blow
underneath the hooded sky,
From the dust of the wind the horses drew,
People of the South came and went with a war cry.
Just like they with their poems as if upon my heart, they knew.
Underneath the hooded sky,
the lonely winds blew the white drifts
Of the snow that still hangs over the grave.
Their poems call like a beast in the wooded rifts.
I feel like we connect, not lost in the haze.
Not lost in the haze
will they be for me,
Dear in the mysteries and mayhem as if something had been lost.
One day beyond the tomb we'll see
What we once knew, the travesty of the cost.
The travesty of the cost
of the man in the portrait
Who carried on to make the blind see,
Stuck in a closet within his fortress;
No one knew nor read the eulogy.
Of the man with the many visions in the portrait,
He was told in a story too unique to be a fail,
And certainly not one was the Teller to forfeit,
For his man that told His story, who grew to tell the Master's Tale,
Was one I'll never forget.
YOU ARE READING
The Poems of Magic
PoetryMagic can be many things: the last rays of sunlight calling out to the fireflies who want to catch it, the ocean, which holds more secrets than we do, and the simple love of the simplest things. Everything has magic in it, light and dark, good and e...
