Someone once asked me,
What is magic?
Can you sense it? Can you smell it?
As it casts an invisible glow?
Is it card tricks, funny gimmicks, coins behind your ear?
Can you really know the number I think of or what colour underwear I wear?
Is it a gift? Or a prank? Or perhaps a talent?
Is it a power? A force? Or maybe a product of the imagination?
Can it be freed from books? Captured in songs? Exposed in movies?
Does it come from wizards and witches? Spells and potions? Wands and broomsticks?
Is there really any proof that magic exists?
It could be that it hides from the undeserving,
Seeking only those that are worthy.
It can wear a cloak and play some tricks,
A magic that has not limit, no restrictions, no end.
It can take on molds, shapes, disguises,
Whispering only to those that know it is there.
It can whisper in tunes and in notes,
Or colours, cultures, and faces.
It can lie in the seasons, the stars, or maybe the vast oceans.
It can begin an idea, catapult a thought.
Magic can seize us, inject us, and course through our veins.
It can appear in a hurry and end just as fast,
But sometimes it lingers and makes moments in life last and last.
It can find its way into peace, love, and compassion of the everyday soul,
But in truth, how would I know?
I'm just living in reality,
An observer of magic, through a tiny peephole.
What is magic?
Can you sense it? Can you smell it?
As it casts an invisible glow?
Is it card tricks, funny gimmicks, coins behind your ear?
Can you really know the number I think of or what colour underwear I wear?
Is it a gift? Or a prank? Or perhaps a talent?
Is it a power? A force? Or maybe a product of the imagination?
Can it be freed from books? Captured in songs? Exposed in movies?
Does it come from wizards and witches? Spells and potions? Wands and broomsticks?
Is there really any proof that magic exists?
It could be that it hides from the undeserving,
Seeking only those that are worthy.
It can wear a cloak and play some tricks,
A magic that has not limit, no restrictions, no end.
It can take on molds, shapes, disguises,
Whispering only to those that know it is there.
It can whisper in tunes and in notes,
Or colours, cultures, and faces.
It can lie in the seasons, the stars, or maybe the vast oceans.
It can begin an idea, catapult a thought.
Magic can seize us, inject us, and course through our veins.
It can appear in a hurry and end just as fast,
But sometimes it lingers and makes moments in life last and last.
It can find its way into peace, love, and compassion of the everyday soul,
But in truth, how would I know?
I'm just living in reality,
An observer of magic, through a tiny peephole.
February 23, 2010 at 3:39 PM
Nicely put Anna! Humans only live in a finite reality. Magic cannot be defined and has no limitations to what it's capable of being. I like the acknowledgement that we don't TRULY know or understand magic, we just each have our own belief of what it COULD be.