Magic
One can grow accustomed
to disappearing acts
The vanished never look back,
or reveal deep secrets
The left behind
conceal regrets,
abandon mysteries,
cover tracks
This is the tragic side
of chasing after magic
Each moment near
is pure delight
But once they’re gone
it’s endless night
You were like that, so vibrant,
then nowhere in sight
Master of illusion,
you callously left us
to weep alone
in your lingering dust
Thistle Thoughts 