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Arriving in Magic – Post breakdown edit

Arriving in Magic – Post breakdown edit

Arriving in Magic

Why do I always turn to the stone

to try again for a king’s sword,

when wizards wait out in the wood

set to take me into their service?

Again and again I am snatched

by flattery to step up and lead,

be on the team, sit on the board,

ignore the space that incubates.


No more can I pass the gap that gates

the path unnoticed, stepping through

towards mossy trees and fish’s glimmer,

novice to the green flame in the bud.

Magic is the fierce acceptance

of all that makes up this life’s course,

uttered bold in faith to the deep

unsleeping witness of the dark.


That unyielding and steady gaze lays

bare the me I really am and

not the me I would have you see.

Finding the dragon’s shadow dancing

vast on my small room’s wall and see

how often I’ve pinned its tail on you,

and as his scales form bright on my skin

I breathe deeply from his secret fire.


An old skin sheds no longer needed,

a way of good belonging now

outdated, letting go its grip I

find my orbit round a greater force.

No more am I a hub for hubris

to build its castle on, no longer

a beggar for attention but an

owl-eyed hunter for the untamed space.


The ring you place upon my finger

is a vow to serve the magic

in which gladly I now arrive.

Knowing too it was always there

waiting quietly in the trees beyond

with the wizard that is the forest

and inside the shadow I now own

with the magic graced to me on loan.