The crowd looks on as he weaves his tale, taller and stronger
You know it isn’t true…… But still you’re drawn in a fish on a hook
Need to see how the “truth, I swear it” fingers crossed behind his back,
Ends.
Where, how, what you ask helplessly wriggling in your seat
As the plot unwinds on a pathway so twisted
His eyes twinkle amused by this audience who swear they don’t believe
In magic.
Or in massive armies of one inch men who grow to giants at dusk
So strong they could carry you away with barely a movement seen
They don’t exist you say, but look for them secretly
Anyway.
Of the magical lands visited and what he saw there, all alone
You can’t take anyone there who doesn’t believe and nobody does
So how can I show anyone monsters, demons, and sssssh the little men
Believe
Loving to hear other tales that said his world of difference was true
From as far back as I can recall he made me realise one thing
That if just if I look further and delve deeper into everything
I
Yes, I believe anyway in magic.
©Ailsa Cawley Poetry 2015
