left in the world, I know you are lying. Priests
of old used it against the wrong citizens.
Nailed them to trees and left them there to die. When
you say there is very little magic left
in the world, I know you are pretending to
be brave. To be asleep. Things out there will hunt you down,
you say. But what once things have you maybe hunted down?
Magic isn't careful. It's wild. When you say
there is very little magic left in the
whole world, I know you are hoping to not get
caught in the act. When you say there is very
little magic left in the world, I know you
have not grown a garden from scratch and seed.
You have not walked into a forest alone
and unarmed. You have not met a new rain on
the lonely road on your way home from work. When
you say there is very little magic left
in the world, I know you have not listened. It
really doesn't matter to what. That's just some
awful squeezing device they use to get you
to say you are afraid. It doesn't matter
of what. When you say there is very little
magic left in the world, I know you are full
of hidden tears that need to be released. When
you say there is very little magic left
in the world, I know you are refusing to
look me in the eyes. I know you are choosing
to be full of doubt. When you say there's very
little magic left in the world, I know you
are warning me to stay far away. You are
made to. You are pulling your lips back to reveal
your gums. You are showing me your longest teeth.
You have now forgotten how to smile without
biting. It's okay. Because you don't mean it
when you do. Your faith is in nothing. Except
for hollow bread. The possessed holes. The end. But
you do know a better conversation. When
you say there is very little magic left
in the world, I know you don't mean it. When we
were just children we played together because
it was the honest thing to do. It was an
uncorrupted apple we touched, tenderly,
to share in a holy circle. Because we
wanted to trust someone in a dream. It's like
that. When you say there is very little of
the old magic left in the world, I know you
have been seriously smacked on the head by
monsters in a ramshackle cave somewhere. The
clamp down neighborhoods can hide a lot of pain
inside your chest. Your pain is not your master.
When you say there is very little magic
left in the world, I know you have forgotten all
flowers. I'm still your friend. You're still my friend. When
you say there is very little magic left
in the world, I know you have embraced regret.
Made me think of the green fuse lighting the flower, the Dylan Thomas poem.
Admire, as always!
She didn't mean paint, she meant dance
and make light. Play in light. Play with
light. Notice light. Be the light. *
*
Good poem, brimming with mantra, DP:
"Notice light. Be the light. Welcome it
to your home and heart. Magnetism is magnetism,
but it is also communion"
*