The Wizard Poem by Gert Strydom

Some might call it a laboratory,
to others a place of unclear science
but to me it’s a place of trickery
looking like a kind of factory
where a little man with vast experience
studies a old tome, a mystic book of his trade
with sketches and funny arithmetic, all hand made

and his fingers write arcane signs
in neat little lines
and I see nothing really gruesome
but an awful power is set in his deep eyes,
blacker than the night sky, than the darkest dye:
looking as that of someone, that has viewed the beyond
with a secret incorporeal bond, sizzling with unknown energy.