When we’re left limbo between absolutes and fantasy, it might be confusing to know if we ought to ride the streams as they are, or bend the streams to our will.
Note: This is my only poem currently that requires the use of sleight-of-hand coin magic to properly portray what I mean.
I like my coffee. Not too hot, not too cold, but just right.
I like to wake up, not in the heat of day, not in the chill of night,
But where light is not too harsh, and not too dim,
And where life would love to go out for a swim.
Am I dreaming? (Pinch cheeks) Or am I awake?
Is our reality absolute, or what WE choose to make?
At one corner, there are the White Magicians. The beholders of Truth,
The pioneers of reason and the curious youth.
We take them for granted, yet they risk their lives
To keep ourselves unhurt, so everyone can survive.
They are Fire-fighters. Surgeons. Astronomers.
At the other side, the Black Magicians: The charlatans and liars.
Corrupters of desires, like the devil conspires
To construct illusions that you do not need,
So you can sell your souls to fulfill their greed.
They are Marketers. Politicians. Cult-leaders.
When you look deep beneath that façade,
It’s hard to tell between the righteous and the fraud.
The White Magicians know all, but they cannot enthrall.
So, the Black Magicians tempt us into the dark. And we fall!
In the light we’re lame, in the dark we’re blind,
But, it’s in the Grey that everything begins to unwind.
In that gradient between Heaven and Hell,
Between Black and White, The Grey Magicians dwell,
And here, in spectral winds, silently stole
The Artists, The Poets, and my own soul.
When I lie, it’s just to make you laugh and cry,
Not to hurt you, but to leave you stronger by and by.
I soothe you, deceive you, so you can face the truth.
I give you hope, to unlock your forbidden youth.
So let me invite you. Let me delight you.
I won’t take you for a fool, nor will I bite you.
I don’t claim to be more than all that you adore,
But I can take your imagination where you’ve never been before!
To a place that’s not too real, not quite a dream.
Where the child in you can sail the uncertain streams,
Where the Strange is Familiar, and the Familiar is Strange,
Where word upon word upon word is change.
Now you might be skeptical if such a place exists.
Ah! But my friends, we’re already HERE! You see…
We were made by the Stars. Now we drift on a rock
That nurtures us till we are wise enough to knock
The doors of heavens, and we’ll know from afar
We are MADE in the IMAGE of all that’s bizarre:
We are not too real, and not too fake.
We are made. And yet ourselves we make.
For every word and deed that we perform,
It is ourselves that we transform.
The citizens of darkness; the children of light.
Manifesting visions, making dreams alight.
Making miracles on miracles, no gimmicks required.
Because Magic is revealed in the heart inspired.
Between Heaven and Hell, our hearts rebel.
The Grey magician always has a story to tell,
From the streams of dreams, you can hear him call.
That… No matter who you are, or how small,
Whatever you imagine can be made real.
‘Coz in the heart of Grey lies human ideal.