Thursday, March 10, 2016

My Own Magic Land

My Own Magic Land
© Surazeus
2016 03 10

I will not tell you my real name because
I reinvented myself when I left
that dirty farm where I was born and raised,
so call me Olorin the Sorcerer.

I wandered forlorn cement city streets,
wishing I could find, hidden in dark hall,
secret portal to some magical land
where I could save the day and be crowned king.

I would step through door of shimmering light
and leave this foul modern world of machines
to enter my own magic land of dreams
where I would befriend a talking fox girl.

Her name would be Renartha, Queen of all Artha,
since Artha would be the name of that land,
and she would send me on quest to retrieve
Emerald of Truth from the Cavern of Candor.

While not as fantastic as Fillory,
Narnia, Middle-Earth, Camelot, Oz,
Pern, Mithgar, Lilliput, or Neverland,
yet Artha would be my own magic land.

I would travel to the Mountains of Fear,
to meet an ancient blind man with five eyes
who would teach me how to mold from hard stone
magic wand that beams bright rays of starlight.

He would be a mighty wizard of power,
named Asura, like Gandalf, Dumbledore,
Merlin, Prospero, Archimago, Garth,
and he would teach me arcane key of runes.

I would climb the Trail of Tears through hot rain
where I would battle nine Demons of Despair,
zapping them with rays of light from my wand
that glows when I think of people I love.

Once I arrive at the Cavern of Candor,
I would face a huge ogre with one eye
in face of my father, who would attack
by spelling out my weaknesses and fears.

His mocking words, in tones our preacher used,
calling me a stupid fool blind with pride,
would almost crush my soul with grim despair,
as I fall to my knees in smog of hate.

Then somewhere deep inside my beating heart
I would find vision of an apple orchard
by a sparkling stream where swift horses play,
and I would see two eyes gazing at me.

When I see her face, the girl with gold hair
and silver eyes, I would find in my soul
words that rise on shimmering waves of song
and spiral from my heart on wings of light.

Clear words I chant would beam from out my eyes
and weave bright dome around my trembling body
to conjure from my heart Elysium,
lush river valley of horses and apples.

Rising from my knees as I sing bright spell,
I would battle Ogre of Hate with beams
of light from words of my song, and dispel
his raging horror to liberate my mind.

At last I would descend to underworld
and enter Cavern of Candor where Death
emerges from shadow to grip my heart,
but I would sing and transform him to Life.

Hidden in gloom of my own magic land,
I would find the bright Emerald of Truth
and bear it up with careful hands of love
to stand on mountain in beams of sunlight.

How startled I would be when rays of light
beaming through that Emerald would flash
and transform into a woman whose eyes
enclose infinite skies within her heart.

Taking my hand, and smiling with true love,
she would sing spells with me in harmony
as we make love among tall apple trees
that would scatter white petals on our skin.

Then I would bring her back out to this world
where we would marry and buy a new house,
and raise three children while I work all day
at the state university library.

But here I sit with you in basement room,
so pass me the bong and a glass of wine,
and play the enchanting music of Enya
while I dream about my own magic land.

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