Black Magic Poem by Paula Glynn

Mysterious man practising black magic,
Predicting events,
As surely as the moon rises after sundown,
For black magic is here,
To cast a wicked spell over those without fear,
Like a curse waiting to explode,
People running in the fold,
For black magic is like gold:
Always a forbidden entity,
Always tricking us with what could be,
And tempting us with excessive riches,
That would create a free and perfect world,
Wrists and throats draped in diamonds and pearls,
As tales of glamour and excess are heard and admired,
Like a game of chess with the devil,
Whom one can dance with,
And pretend to fall for his nasty tricks,
Like a naughty child playing a trick,
When she should have gotten a treat,
And this soul is trapped by black magic,
My own personal horror film,
Where tricks are played,
The hero walking away smiling,
But I am not smiling,
As I feel the curse of the wise man's magic,
That plays a seductive melody,
Bound to trap me in its plight,
For the master of the darkest arts,
Is here to fight,
And do his voodoo he does so well,
His gaze putting me under an hypnotic spell,
And I want this hell to be gone,
And heaven to no longer delay,
Helping this soul break these chains,
That keeps this heart in a place of shame.