Slight Of Hand
And now for my next trick,Confined, to a darkened stage,
Spending years, a victim of deceitful magic,
willfully, producing pictures,Form thin air.
Always stolen, by an unwelcome thief.
In the past has robbed him of what kept him content.
years pass, The captive magician
Exhausts his supply of pictures,
Cautiously, substituting his memories in their place,
Guarding each one,
In fear the thief will return
To steal his precious pieces of heart.
Watching the memories of his children
Flash,Above his head in the mist,
The thief enters,
And stretches forth, a concealed hand.
The Magician, on his captive stage
Waves his hand, deflects the hand,
Conceals his memories within a secret location,
Scampers away believing they have won
Stolen his memories as they have stolen his children.
Nothing was stolen but empty words and broken promises.
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