You called yourself the master of disguise.
You said it was the greatest of ruses—
Disappearing from the emptiest stage
In front of the most eager audience—
An audience that ne’er manifested
Itself for you.
You said the crowd does not like the flowers
Nor pretty things tied up in tidy bows,
Nor magic shows. Nor your tired assistant.
So you performed the greatest of ruses
And left her the army of empty chairs
That you once loved.
You left wonder in her heart and in theirs
Of whether you did ever make magic
Or whether it was based on lie after lie.
“What you see is not what you really get,”
You’d say to her. That’s when she should have known
To escape you.
How naïve was your assistant when she
Took your hand and believed your solemn vows
That you would show the world your magic with
Her by your side! And now she is the star—
The magician—bathing in her vanity
As you once did.
I suppose the show must go on.