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outdated, letting go its grip I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.