The Sorceror Poem by Juan Olivarez

Who is the man hidden away,
Locked in his room all by himself.
Amid spiderwebs where darkness plays,
Taking potions from the shelf.

He weaves his spells so quietly,
Up in his phantom haunted tower.
Hidden where no one else can see,
Blaspheming in the midnight hour.

He casts his magic over all,
And reaps the harvest he has sown.
Using his arcane crystal ball,
Amid the haunted screams and moans.

Up in his tower he dreams alone,
The sorceror has no one to mourn.
In the company of potions and human bones,
He never had a soul to burn.

9/22/10 Alton Texas