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Daniel Redic Oct 2012
My Mother placed a glass of water
by my bed every night
before I went to sleep.

I was forbidden
to drink it
“It serves another purpose.” she would say.

This happened every day until, once,
the glass sat, half evaporated, with bubbles
clung to its ribs, and my mother panicked.

She explained the magick
as best she could to a child,
but forgot that children know the art well.

She told an Aesopian  story
of hurt and malice as weapons.
How they could be given life.

The water, she said, was a bridge.
One that could not be crossed
by the ghosts that were drawn to me in my sleep.

She warned me not to travel when I slept.
To stay away from those unfamiliar places in my dreams,
she said that they would wait for me in those nooks.

The morning she found the tumbler,
half full, me sweating, beads of glass,
she moved my bed,

told me that it might be a shade,
that the room was thick with rancor
and someone might playing with conjury.

She clipped a tuft of hair from my head
burned it, stinking between her fingers
and dropped it into what was left of the water.

“Magick is old,” she’d say,
“young souls appeal most
To strong spells and old ghosts.”
Astraea Jun 2016
A sprinkle of splendour
Across the sky
A wave and a gesture
Sending fire shooting up high

A hop and a skip
My dreams come to life
A twirl and a leap
They bring tears to my eyes

When you wish upon a star
...


Winking lights
Emblazoning luminosity
What a sight
Parading through the city

A castle standing tall
Turrets pointing to the sky
Pictures played on the walls
While sparks shoot up and fly

Makes no difference where you are
...


She twiddled her fingers
A gentle wave at me
He pointed, asked "How are you?"
A grin that set me free

The music swells
The crescendo builds
The ring of bells
The voices lilt

When you wish upon a star
...


The conjury alluring
The enchantment simply magnetic
Each feat so fascinating
My heartbeat almost frantic

The magic feels oh so real
Imaginations brought to life
Euphoria unable to conceal
Adrenaline on a high-speed drive

**Your dreams come true
The pure magic of
DisneyLand simply cannot
Be captured in words
Robert C Ellis Apr 2018
Where all languages cohese
                          heaven is their belief
The universe fills with lost souls we breathe
We hope for the broad brush strokes of angels
Baroque candy corn music and eternity

— The End —