Where the magic goes

I was born with magic and glee. A wonderful spirit untrampled and free. The world called to me and my voice till three.

My magic grew trees, and let the seas run sprees, in the canyons and rivers, where they could be free.

But with age came no guarantee that magic would not flee.

Told in bold, and bored and snored, restless nights, unhappy fights.

Like water down a drain, like a life gone to waste. Busy with life, dizzy with grief. Empty and sad, maybe it's bad?

Bad to think this is life?

What do I like? What do I fight? My mind unfree and stricken with grief.

Told in bold, and bored and snored. I like what they like, and I fight what they fight.

My magic is gone, stripped from my "me". The me that doesn't fight, the me that likes what magic likes for me.

Maybe it's gone, maybe it's free. I hope I feel the magic in me, maybe it ran to those who let themselves

Be free.