One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five,
years these words once spoken have stayed alive,
Born in breath and shaped by sound,
Through time and war they still are found.
Through village fable, tales are tall, through kingdoms then that rise and fall,
So many hear, yet miss this truth,
For abracadabra is not a trick for youth.
But ancient words lost both deep that stick.
meaning lost to haze and trick.
For spoken magic once was understood,
Not smoke or guise, but something in it's mystical good,
A whisper law the wise mage once knew:
What we speak seeks to come true.
Be careful of each word you say,
Be careful what spell you cast each day,
Our words are seeds both dark and bright,
They grow in shadows,
They grow in light.
Sharp tongues can cut like hidden knives,
Soft words can save and shape our lives,
What we write and what we speak,
Forms the world we chase and seek.
Magic sits on the tongue’s fine thread,
Alive in all words we've said,
For what is spoken, once begun,
Will move and act till it is done.
“Abracadabra,” magicians cry,
As sparks and rabbits fill the sky,
Yet far beyond their fleeting art,
Its truer spell beats in pure of heart.
“I create as I speak,” its meaning sings,
“By word alone creation springs,”
With gentle speech, the wild rose may bloom,
With words of hate, we summon wilting gloom.
This life we know but not so well,
We live inside the words we tell,
For thought made sound, when soul believes,
Takes root like seed the earth receives.
So choose your words with mindful care,
For magic lives in words right there
For what you say, both dark and free,
Is what you are
and what will be.
Though my words may twist,
At times turn upside down,
I choose them still each one profound,
For souls we plant with what we say,
Are the seeds we’ll harvest one fine day.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 6:08 AM UTC
One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five,
years these words once spoken have stayed alive,
Born in breath and shaped by sound,
Through time and war they still are found.
Through village fable, tales are tall, through kingdoms then that rise and fall,
So many hear, yet miss this truth,
For abracadabra is not a trick for youth.
But ancient words lost both deep that stick.
meaning lost to haze and trick.
For spoken magic once was understood,
Not smoke or guise, but something in it's mystical good,
A whisper law the wise mage once knew:
What we speak seeks to come true.
Be careful of each word you say,
Be careful what spell you cast each day,
Our words are seeds both dark and bright,
They grow in shadows,
They grow in light.
Sharp tongues can cut like hidden knives,
Soft words can save and shape our lives,
What we write and what we speak,
Forms the world we chase and seek.
Magic sits on the tongue’s fine thread,
Alive in all words we've said,
For what is spoken, once begun,
Will move and act till it is done.
“Abracadabra,” magicians cry,
As sparks and rabbits fill the sky,
Yet far beyond their fleeting art,
Its truer spell beats in pure of heart.
“I create as I speak,” its meaning sings,
“By word alone creation springs,”
With gentle speech, the wild rose may bloom,
With words of hate, we summon wilting gloom.
This life we know but not so well,
We live inside the words we tell,
For thought made sound, when soul believes,
Takes root like seed the earth receives.
So choose your words with mindful care,
For magic lives in words right there
For what you say, both dark and free,
Is what you are
and what will be.
Though my words may twist,
At times turn upside down,
I choose them still each one profound,
For souls we plant with what we say,
Are the seeds we’ll harvest one fine day.
