The Witch’s Magic
In youth I was taught to believe in magic.
The story books were filled with fairy tales
With goblins and trolls hidden in the shadows,
Angels and Devils just beyond our view.
And a lone Witch looks down on it all.
As her broom sails across the full moon.
The magic was real back then.
Adults were never wrong, so it must have been so.
The goblins and trolls were waiting around every dark corner.
Angels and Devils were locked in a never-ending war.
And somewhere, looking down on it all,
The Witch casts her spells through the moonlit night.
Then the magic began to fade.
Adulthood brought a new world to replace the old.
I knew that the shadows in the corner were merely shadows.
Even the Angels and Devils seemed far, far away.
And nowhere, it seemed, would the Witch be sitting,
Watching the creatures of the night…or me.
The world had lost its magic.
The ability to believe somehow vanished with youth,
And I no longer heard goblins dance or the trolls laugh.
Even the ancient Angels seemed to lose their wings and fall.
No longer would I know there was magic all around.
No longer, until I heard the Witch’s call.
A soft cry from some lost corner of the night,
A mere whisper from a place so long untraveled,
Louder it grew, and at first I could not believe the sound,
But some distant child called to me from the past
And reminded me that the world is not just what I see around me.
And the Witch sang to me a song of love.
I finally gazed upon the Witch I knew so long ago,
But instead of the fear and uncertainty, I knew only love.
This single power embraced me, as I embraced her,
And in her arms I knew love as I had never known before.
The Witch bestowed on me a gift beyond all others.
She reminded me that, to create magic, you need only believe.
Written by C. Grant Simmons