poetry
is for the people
that still believe in magic
floating in the air around us
invisible to eyes
but sensed
in little beads and sparks
and silk ribbons
loosely binding the wind
to flowing footsteps
in no specific order
all in the right direction
and what that magic is
is the belief in hope
that blurs the line between
ordinary and
fantastic
and all that magic does
is put color between words
and things we see and hear.
Above all there is magic
in emotions
all put into actions
like an orange in its peel
the emotions are fruit
wrapped in skin
and when we translate them
the magic is evident
in shiny blossoms
and liquid succession
rivers of quasi-patterned bits
dance in mindβs eye
excited by life
