The Act

the magician stood silent,
waiting for quiet
before he began the show.

he sang and he danced,
he spoke of romance,
flashy smile, all bright lights and promises.

oh, he did quite well,
fooling crowds with his spells,
the illusions all formed from science.

but physics,
you see,
is no child's plaything.

and miscalculations
occur.

some say he planned it.
some say he fell.

those who were there, oh they said they could tell.

midway through the act,
he stepped on a tack,
caught himself on a lever,
which wasn't so clever,
and he hung from the rafters,
loose rope now tight round his neck.

The audience gasped,
then burst into claps,
thinking, of course, this was part of his act.

But their praise was cut short,
as they saw his effort,
ending, as his face amort

then

he hit the stage--limp body bowing as if controlled by an unseen puppeteer.

So they cut him down,
and all gathered 'round,
half expecting him to jump up alive.

The magician was silent,
for one final show,
a slow vanishing act.

Holding Magic (Finished)

here we are,
all pretendin
that love is not
our intention

but I can see
that underneath
we're only looking
for some peace

here we are,
in an era,
full of pain,
reigned by terror,

we each hold on
to what we can,
and those who know love
hold magic

in their hands

Those who fancy themselves magicians
must practice a careful art, one mistake,
one hint at the secret behind the illusions
and they suddenly lose their intrigue.

Those who master magic, those who know
 the hardship that sneaks into the moments
 before the curtain rises, understand that it
 can dazzle, but it can scar.

Yet, still, they continue, dazzling away, for those who just want to be entertained.

In the moments before the show the magician examines the scars on the palms of his hands.  He may hold magic within them, loving the world, but a spark like that can burn.