I remember the day when I made circles in the air
I met a mystic of great ability, unprepared
He held faith by his side like a gold sack and stared
I never saw him disbelieving himself
Such was the conviction of this grand ghost who I delved in
Quite old, and well into his sixties and svelte
He was intrigued by my quixotic attitude and black hat
Such were the quirks that almost intertwined with his gloved fingers
As if lust would never enter my life and never genuflected to authority
Or demeaned those who authorised his beastly aura
It was pure and raw fascination for his wild and untamed penumbra
His spells hung like a shadow over his temple of flowing silver hair, tempered by discipline and old age
The clairvoyant had taught magic and plenary concepts to whoever wished an entry to the Dark Arts
To everyone who lusted for power
He simply aroused a perfect quantity of interest in me by the hour