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Dear magical wonders.

The Ringmaster stands on the masterpiece

With a flick of the Wand a rabbit appears

His spells leaving the mouths of the children

Stunned and excited at the marvelous act

An act creating a deceitful reality

He blows rings of fire into the lust air

And into each ring, words of incantation

Abracadabra and poof

A man appears; tall and handsome

Amidst the mist of the devious smoke

I stand there helplessly with a wand

Chanting the same incantations and whispers

Creating circles of imagination

Anything that would bring him back.

My grandfather.

I watch the ringmaster in scrutiny

Flawless, confident and convincing

Building into the lively void of the stage

The platform at the humbleness of his feet

Applauded for the hand in the lions mouth

Where was I wrong?

Was it the fathoms of my thoughts?

Or the undeniable reality that he was gone. GONE.

And here I was alone on the ground

Wishing upon the stars

The ringmaster weaved threads of imagination

While I knitted the yarn of the past

Should it work just once?

Magic for miracles of my desires

A chance for a long sought goodbye

As the flames blared on the stage

And the lion roared at the command of the whip

In the fraction of the blink of my eye

Amidst the glowing yellow I saw his face

Smiling at my teary appearance…

This post first appeared on Letters On Pastels, please read the originial post: here

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Dear magical wonders.


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