When Magic is Afoot

Tis moments when magic is afoot, yet the hands of time offer neither mooring nor grapnel

Sparkles of light flutter about in their wispy but deliberately meandering thoroughfare

Raw unbridled electricity remains in the wee pockets and nooks of the effervescent greenery

Tiny aerated bubble slowly rise from directions each and all enveloping the spectrum in detail

Scented winds curl and weave their tails through the underbrush painting vogue tenderness

With nary an open eye you may purse your lips to the sapidity of glitter bursts erupting

The sweetness shares common berth with extracts of the rarest, the spicy, and exotic

Feel the hue dance across your unadorned nothingness; quench your thoughts on the unseen

When chasms of brilliant shards of indurated alloys and ores project a beckoning pathway

And hasten you must, for tis only the first step that matters, then with certainty you shall see

Variegated blossoms stretch awake and whisper each their fragment of eternity’s perfume

Breathe deep from the very moment when creation passes from but a thought to endlessness

Step lively but make leisure, for tis a place where generations pass alternately aside one another

The meditations of the optics blend refractions with ultras and infras in a wash of direction

Archaic musical elements seed low hanging clouds that burst forth in the softest of vibrato

No moment as amazing as what follows, nor as infinite as ones which have passed

For here, moments so rare the sages nary believe they are nothing but the myths of erstwhile

An illuminated passage chock full of switchbacks and turns, snakes through the crystal forest

Taken not given is the key, puzzling the intellects with its simplistic riddle imprinted abound

Let me draw out the tendrils of magic with a gentle coaxing of eyes, lips, and whispers

Inhaled as a secret, released as a sound, and watched as it was felt by the depths of your soul

All senses aware as the footfalls become fewer, the way clearer and the journey nearly through

Beginning again, at the end of the way, when things familiar slipped to the foreground

Circular vision of eternal beauty, stopping to take in all that life could offer and more

Watching am I, from behind curtains of color, only able to smile

For my love, I give you everything that my magic can possibly support

Drawn from your lips, sustained by your heart, rushing like all the waves crashing over the falls

What you ask has been taken away? My breath of course, then, now, and for all of my days…

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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