Magic Is Subtle
This life is an elaborate hoax.
In the end there is no saving grace.
Robbed of one final act of defiance
Save the manner and the hour
Of my departure.
It’s a projection, a holographic illusion
Displayed on an earth-size screen.
The illusion is not so obvious,
Like a palmed coin
Appearing from behind your ear.
Or a bouquet of dried flowers
Snapped from a magician’s sleeve.
This magic is subtle.
Embracing the story as it unfolds
Becoming the story.
It lulls you into the illusion
That free will can stop the sun
Or subdue the waves and tide
Or bring you peace.
We were given free will,
A double-edged sword if ever there be,
Then made to believe we had control.
The joke is on us.
An elaborate plot is laid out
And we are made to follow step by step
To its conclusion.
How came we by this delusion?
From what seed did it grow?
What fruit will it bear?