Using a wand, causing storms that blind
With excitement and joy
In every girl and boy
Playfully waving the tool
Innocuous in his hands
Deadly in the hand of a fool
Spreading joy in someone's heart
His magic will start with his chosen art
Many toy with this craft
One that should, for all its worth
And worthlessness; be given a wide berth
By people who enjoy being daft.
A magicians path
Is heavy with wrath
A cold sorrowful lonely power
Learned isolated in a dark tower
Enemies of his peace
Never critically cease
While a magical brew
He continues to stew
The runes lay down
Etched into wood
Of deepest oak brown
Evil - or - perhaps good?
A magician sees no right and wrong
Only within, if as he has traveled along;
He's given it all he's got!
Every ounce of will
Like sweat, starts to spill
A surrender is an option NOT
The wizard doesn't quit
He cannot remit
Adults, children, and one sewer rat
Asking "How could this be?
What is the sorcery that
Our eyes start to see"
"The mystical words captivate
Like an sieging army
Letters do not abate
In an instant, an end, I can create.
Itermittas scribere!" last words he does state.
Composed By: Andrew Drucker
Composed By: Andrew Drucker
