Photo by Klim Musalimov on Unsplash
We are all magicians, eventually.
No puffs of smoke, stolen identities, or trips down the Liffey
just a gradual fade.
The wand carves a corkscrew and a little piece vanishes
like undoing a puzzle
until you can see the light through the holes.
You shouldn't fuss.
Things must be left behind.
The next payment, the next electric bill
those are hungry mouths, you know.
The audience is spellbound as
a passion is abandoned
a dream interred
a certain laugh falls silent forever.
They sit uneasy as the wand clatters to the floor.
We are all magicians, eventually.
About the Creator
Daniel Bradbury
Big fan of long walks in the woods, rye Manhattans, Spanish literature, jazz, and vinyl records.
Lover of all things creepy and crawly.



Comments (1)
brilliant. absolutely, brilliant.