The Arcana

Please fill my lungs up with sealing wax

Archaic artifice is familiar; let this be how I die

I could not live with myself

In these twisted refractions 


I could not go on

I would fall to bits and cease to work

Crumbling like the pages of that book

You wrote my name in 


Please carve me to pieces with a letter opener

But don't let it drip upon the parchment

Or if you do, may it splatter sigils with every splash

Protecting what is left of me

A memory, from inhuman reality


I don't want realism.

I want magic. 


Dying magic that casts wards over the past

Making moments last that you had left for dead

But instead they are fading fast 

And I am fading with them


I must go now, I could not continue this way

I would grind to a halt

And sit stationary for eternity

Because what is the point of trying to keep up?

Rushing to keep pace with a reality

That has no room for me


If I am to be left behind

Why stay alive, why try

Watching, waiting, everything changing


Let me die in the world I know

As who I am

Not in some unknown apparition

As a stranger.


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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