Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Where the Magic Is - Poetry

Where the Magic Is
This is where the magic is made,
where the magic is real.
 It doesn’t come from wands or spells, but from
 strings and
chords and
threads of melodies sewn together
 by the rat-a-tat-tat of the snare that ensnares your soul and glazes over your eyes
 so you lose sight of the world outside of here,
 outside of this room,
this one fleeting moment in a history of moments,
none of which are as magical and enchanting as this.
 No, you can’t see it, don’t see it
 – or don’t want to? –
but here is where you can hear. Where you hear.
 Hear the passion,
 the hope,
the sheer joie de vivre.
This is perfection,
 this is simplicity,
free flow,
and harmony.
Harmony because here is where there are no individuals,
 no competition between or among envious souls trying to prove superiority over one another.
No, here is where there is only a one,
 not an I or a me or a you or a my or a him or a her.
No, here is a one, an us, a we,
a home constructed of notes as fine as the lines on which they are written.
Written in the way in which we write of these small moments,
these little bits of precious jewels that will soar
along on our coattails far after this enchantment breaks and we depart for the evening.
But I’m not going to think about the inevitable pop of this silk-thin soap bubble.
 No, I’m here,
 here right now,
 and I am alive,
living for this moment,
living in this moment,
in this magic,
this music,
these soul-bearing stories we share through song and rhyme,
through rhythm and little reason.
This is where the magic happens,
 and it is in our hearts,
our memories,
our ears,
 to remember,
 to listen to on repeat in our minds,
 to never forget.
 Never forget.
 Magic is real, and it lives and lies here, in each of us right now.
 The magic is real, so hold on to it and don’t forget.
 Don’t forget the magic,
the peace,
the harmony,
 the love,
the us.

 Because here, here is where the real magic is.