Magic

Channelled by the vectors
That hold and swing the air
As if they were the spectres

That children see everywhere.
And I am being funnelled through
To the secret side of truth
Where the Sentinels will ask me who
I am to hold such proof
Of poetry’s great magic,
And I will laugh and smile
So that joy can see off tragic
Mores and send them into exile.

Copyright Kosmogonic 2018

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