(A lone voice whispers)

Did no one tell you that true
Magic exists

Just hidden somewhere deep
In most societies

Sought after by convicts of the mundane

Profane addicts, who cry out in the mists

Whenever they're asleep
In pain

Some crying out for redemption or anything linked to temptation

But still, it subsists in so many obscure places

And upon so many new or old altars, does it reside

For when it comes out to tempt the eyes of the juggernaut

Known as The Great Metatron

To look

One of the most powerful archangels, and interdimensional scribes

To the Book of Life

It causes so many other emotions, to like atoms collide

In the deep-minds behind inquisitive eyes and faces

From all gender and races

As imagery
Emotions and engagement runs wide

For the Philosophers Stone
The Great Secret
Is simply this

There's an old piece of magic in us
All

But sometimes, it only chooses to come out in those it made to speak

After a mighty fall

Maybe like you
Too

A new poet who once heard the nightly call

And now speaks a sacred hidden language, that summons the craft of

Reconceptualizing the enchantment of the human experience

Through an incredible naming magical act

Breathing
Molding and weaving
Words into life

Like a pagan mage giving shape to energy

A molten flux to entertain the curious ones

Of any age

That needs something magical written in verse

As they turn one of your spiritual pages

To help save them from their own form of self-destruction

And maybe anything that still hurts

Before their last ride home
In Old Nicks black hearse

As you serve your new masters and mistress's

Of the magical vibrations known as, Poetry

By sharing your magic as it pleads to be dispersed

(C) Copyright John Duffy