The Magic Way



few come this way

fewer still by choice

there is nothing here

nothing human to lie against



no touch to touch

nothing warm but

that which burns

inside



no comfort here

in the layers of flesh

that cover me

like sheets of glass



nothing lives

or even dies here

the only light shines

lonely from within



there is now still a ringing

silence in this rare air

a churning and simmering

of shadows and whispers



a breathy hiss

of muffled murmurs

swallowed words from dark others

slipping by



the nature of this place at last is clear:

I flourish here as myself

but was dying when I tried

out being someone else



what doesn’t last needs to pass

before the casting of what is real

the lost is serendipitously found

here where passions’ gifts abound







~MD