The Illusionist

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I wish I could say all the right things. I wish I could speak to your heart, make it heal with just a few hymns, but I’m not magic, I’m just an illusionist. I’m just an ordinary friend who in this world wants your tears to be from laughter, your smile to be genuine and your voice to squeak with glee.
I’m just an illusionist, distraction and misdirection are my game yet somehow I seem to heal you. Just a bit mind you. Not enough but it’s a small piece that no longer twinges. That you can forget was there.
I’m just an illusionist. I don’t have magic powder or a hat with a fluffy white rabbit. Only my witty comments about long past jokes, ideas of different times and wisdom I’ve yet to control. These are my right and left hands, my ears and my nose. The eyes that watch you are my guide, a simple flick and they are drawn, guided in by the dark black hole.
I am just an illusionist and you are my audience, my only concern and my only delight. For a short while I am yours. For a short while I can help but I am just an illusionist, when you turn that corner from alley way to Main Street, I will be out of sight.





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