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,
Pull happiness from out your hat bound at the tail,
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.