Discontentment Poem by Andy Carl

I have seen past the Magician's
tricky sleight of hand,
and detest His great illusion.

I know his secret,
despise his intentions,
and pity the folks
who squeal with delight
believing the illusion is real.

Some have given their life's savings
to watch this crude show,
others have given their lives.
And he uses their offerings
to thicken the veil
and keep them smiling
and laughing.

I know it's not real
and wish to call him out,
but it's not my place
to ruin the show
for those who paid so much
for their tickets.

I'm leaving the hall,
but I won't sell my ticket
in the parking lot,
or even give it away.
For then I become a Magician,
the same as the one I hate.

They must see the illusion,
and see the silliness themselves,
while I sit by and watch
and slowly destroy myself
while wondering:
Is it best to smile with your eyes shut,
Or weep eternally with eyes wide open?