Nothing Will Be Magic Anymore

Prompted by a line* from Fredrik Backman’s book, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry

What day, which hour

Did un-magic reality arrive

Black-hooded visage and

At hand, Death’s scythe?

Did it whisper words ill-chilled

Declare edict in dark-masked roar?

Maybe mere sternly weighted nod…

Intuitive souls perceive, sigh

“Nothing will be magic anymore”.

Was it spring day, truth’s force struck

Childhood, stolen, slammed starlit door shut?

And the murder that slashed everything safe, sacred.

Perhaps it dawned post-honeymoon

Rages unrelieved dissolved vows soon.

Or, when fifty candles’ mocking mirror fired:

“All second chances stamped ‘Expired'”.

Flimsy notion, Imagination’s infinitude…

Fine substance flamed is elusive, fades

Like fallen rose petals leave but dust

To conjure half-drawn dream from hoarfrost-

Heart, scarred soul balanced on tottering legs

And held in palsied hands bent on scribbling

Scratchy-voiced poems’ acknowledgment

Of hard-edged fact:  what worthy remnant 

Time deigns deliver yet, ‘pink-cloud possibilities’

Wishes windswept…all allures pass swiftly.

Drink hope’s dregs, grateful thimblefuls blessed…

*‘Because nothing will be magic anymore’.

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

8 thoughts on “Nothing Will Be Magic Anymore

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