Blue Drinks & Black Magic

Bodies should stay well beneath the soil

Even if death is as fresh as autumn rain

And the magic in the blood hasn’t yet spoiled.

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They should remain forgotten by most,

Decay into little more than a name in a crypt,

A moaning creature of the night, a ghost.

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But what of the black magic spinning

From desperate wands and despairing eyes?

What of a magician who lost their dreams?

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There was only one prerequisite to breaking

Every last rule held dear to the thread of magic,

Losing the star child of the future’s hope.

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How quickly the fall was into wicked cures.

How easily the wizard shed their morality

For the whispered maybe of seeing the dead again.

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It’s a blue thing, full of starlight and dew,

Glimmering in the dark with preternatural

Brightness that does not inspire, but terrifies.

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There it glows in dark eyes, heavy with knowledge.

Heavy with the understanding of what exactly

This pandora’s box of liquid will invite henceforth.

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The golden soul lost to the ether is worth the

Horrid fracture of all that is to come,

So thinks the Potions Master shredded by grief.