Sometimes, the Magic isn't Strong Enough

My goal, of course, had been to be the shaman,
Who crept from the darkness to your room
To enslave you. So lovely you were, so
Susceptible, it seemed, to spells I learned.
I thought that you'd be mine, and that we'd
Slip away, at last, to live as it had seemed
We nearly lived: as lovers. I'd attend to you,
And you would hold me close at night, as I
Grew older and decayed, while you began to
Truly flourish. Time would pass. I'd taste
Your lips. I'd rut beneath the sheets with
You, and, with my shaman's imprecations,
I would clear away whatever obstacles
Were in your path. I'd die at last, and you'd
Go on, but you've gone on and left me living,
Broken-hearted shaman back in shadows
With a list of spells which can't accomplish
Anything. I still sometimes go past your
Room, but you have moved, and I'm left
Standing, looking lost and foolish,
An old man without a goal.





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 69 times
Written on 2017-04-28 at 02:22

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