Smoke the Mirrors (copyrighted 2014)

Smoke the Mirrors

As eldest daughter of you, Illusionist,

Inducted as apprentice at your behest,

I knew your tricks all too well

The gimmicks that tickets would sell.

 

Yet, I soon tired of rehearsing stage magic

            No longer enamored with wand waving.

Just a trained thespian raving, gripping theaters of

Crowds cheering as you would take the bow.

 

But, lies made the means of your double living

And I looked elsewhere for learning to live complete

In singularity of person without need of illusions

            And now I stand anonymous in the audience

As I make sense of this Illusionist in cape performing old wiles,

            I recount the crafted guiles verbatim:

 

Vanish truth’s coin for escape behind the veil,

                                                                                    Amaze them

Pull happiness from out your hat bound at the tail,

                                                                                    Astound them

Levitate the prop, don’t drop the smile twofold from mid-air,

                                                                                    You’ve sold them

Win their confidence and as you prepare to smother the flares,

                                                                                    Now hold them, hold them all

 

Smoke the mirrors, on the wall, clever disappearer

Let down the hatch and, quickly, fall in

A final act, a feat to be unmatched

And, knowing, I listen to loud crowds applauding thereafter.

 

Smoke the mirrors, those cruel jeerers taunt with ghouls’ laughter

As they show you how gray ghosts are appearing early

To surely curse your gaunt face disgraced by mirrors of scorn

Exposing all the foolish, foul, and foreign masks you’ve worn

So as to hide, unwilling, from those true raging eyes, crying mad

            And, when enough you’ve had…fast, run to your bed.

 

Rest your head, Illusionist, recoiling from an audience

Expecting more of what you aren’t

Lay low, out of limelight, from their demands for new thrills

And marvels by night, for you swore by the magician’s oath

That the world may never know of the ills you stow behind cloak

            And still, you smoke the mirrors: your ritual of mere pretend

So curtain realities, ever nearer to your illusion’s end.

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Asha Gowan

I am an aspiring poet, novelist, musician, visual artist, and a die hard jazz enthusiast (partial to writing). I did not have a choice in the matter as both of my parents are creative to the core. Van Gogh beautifully painted the artist's portrait with his words: "The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others." I've made that ideal the primary catalyst for my work. Born as one of nature's esthetes, beauty is the goal of every song, every poem, every piece of art. Beauty that will touch the hearts and minds of others. I try to design my art to be healing and empathetic. I study and find intriguing people of all kinds, which informs a lot of my insights. I've drawn inspiration on the art of positivity, of spiritual uplifting from writers like Throeau, John Muir, Ohiyesa (Charles Eastman), the psalmist David, etc. Seeking a unique verve in my style, I make thorough investigations of all sorts of art and challenge myself to the hilt for the growth of my ingenuity. I am eager to share my musings with everyone here and wish to disseminate them. Thank you!

One thought on “Smoke the Mirrors (copyrighted 2014)”

  1. This poem was inspired by the idea of family dysfunction. The speaker is the eldest daughter of a parent that puts on a persona in public but is completely miserable at home. She watches her parent fake happiness and longs for the illusion to stop.

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