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I had a book all full of spells

Where childhood magic

Weaved its way

Between the yellowed pages


Where dragon’s breath

Set woodland glades alight

And lost children danced

With the frightened and the fey


The teeth of angry wolves

Chewed at the edges

Whilst chattering little demons

Clawed along your spine


Strange apples fell from wizened trees

And settled in the pit of dreams

Fermenting their own potions

Into word-wizard little brains


The world was not all sunshine bright

It hard dark corners

Where strange words and deeds

Were intoned by stranger things


Imagination blossomed into creation

Those shadow places

Latching on to psyche

Defended by protection spells of adolescence


Gradually that book

Was left to gather dust

To crumble at the seams

To be passed on to other sorcerers


The lessons learned

Stayed safe inside

Maturing minds

Of Sages


I had a book

But I did not own it

It owned me

It chose me to carry its word


Here on pages white

I sit and write the incantations

Prise open the decayed fruit

Let out the creatures of the night


The dusk creeps in

The fires are lit

Children gather round

To learn the magyk


To listen to the storyteller

On a moonlit night

Send their hearts racing

Beyond the woods and mountains


To that place

Where innocence is corrupted

On a dark wheel of fairy tales

In a dusty old book long forgotten

napowrimo2018day 8magiccreationchildhoodreadingwritingimaginationstory teller

◄ A Life

Tank Man ►


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