Why There Are No More Sorcerers Poem by David Welch

There was a young man named Anton,
who lived back in the seventies,
he wasn't the type to fit in,
felt outcast from society.

Never got along with others,
and didn't enjoy playing sports,
his parent's said, "Just get out more."
It was for his good, they're exhort.

But like so many introverts
Anton thought that the world was wrong,
that most people ran with the herd,
they conformed, they weren't all that strong.

He glorified the fact that he
didn't go along with the trends,
and slowly developed hatred
for all the ‘ordinary' men.

It's a path that we know too well,
even now in this modern age,
and Anton's father worked a lot,
barely saw his son on most days.

So Anton just drifted further,
dabbling with some occult books,
not just some stupid Ouiji Board,
quite deeply did young Anton look.

And when his mother went to France
to go visit her relatives,
she brought Anton along with her,
quite a trip for a teenage kid.

During the long weeks in Paris
the teen went to explore the town,
and found there an antique bookshop,
he spent hours looking around.

In it he found, in tattered tomes,
books claiming that they taught magic,
thinking he'd hit on a gold mine
he got them down, bought them up quick.

The shopkeeper just rolled his eyes,
he'd tried to sell that junk for years,
if some young fool would pay for them
then what was there for him to fear?

It turned out there was quite a lot,
though nobody knew it back then,
since these books were not forgeries,
carried knowledge of ancient men.

And thought it took Anton some time
to learn ancient French and Latin,
by the time he finished college
the books yielded secrets to him.

They told him the ways of magic,
of dark powers men could call on,
at first he thought it just a joke,
but believed the words before long.

Who, back then, would write books this long,
back when paper was quite pricey?
That did not make much sense to him,
so Anton decided to see.

He ingested ingredients,
strange herbs, and cruel insects that sting,
he tattooed sigils in his skin,
and called upon all dark beings.

It started with some little things,
moving cups with waves of his hand,
electric glows on his fingers,
leaping higher than a man could stand.

But power corrupts everything,
and he was corrupt from the start,
Anton was an easy target
with resentment deep in his heart.

He began shooting bolts of light,
vaporized a dog to practice,
at a bar he once waved a hand
shattering a young woman's wrist.

He taught himself to levitate,
even to solidify air,
and learned to use it as a shield,
he grew stronger without a care.

I guess it is bound to happen,
when power and resentment merge,
Anton decided to seek revenge
on all he felt had made him hurt.

His childhood bully strangled
without a mark upon his neck,
the girl who spurned him got knocked up
with a kid who was half-giraffe.

The professor who marked him down
found inside a great piece of stone,
a cruel boss was turned inside out
next to his wife, in his own home.

It got to the point that Anton
didn't care if it was deserved,
helplessness brought him such great joy,
he fed upon the raw power.

But none could figure all this out,
real magic? Who would dare believe,
the idea just seemed such nonsense,
the truth of it no one could see.

But corruption destroys itself,
and Anton was no exception,
by thirty he felt he was a God,
need not fear others' intentions.

He'd sired hundreds of children,
manipulated countless lives,
but he'd done it all from shadow,
he now felt it his time to rise.

For what would the rest of man do?
His power was beyond their ken,
and why should he, with all this strength,
not rule over these normal men?

He made his move down in Times Square,
not long before John Lennon died,
walked out and yelled, "All bow to me! "
folks just looked on with confused eyes.

What kind of person talked like that?
several street punks just scoffed and laughed,
Anton just snapped his fingers and
they flew apart in a bloodbath.

Then came a giant lightning bolt
that charred several people alive,
"I am you lord! "he then called out,
"You will bow to me, or will die! "

Several police noticed this hell,
two of them quickly pulled their guns,
Anton made a shield of ‘hard' air,
and blocked their bullets, every one.

He laughed at their powerlessness,
not noticing they had a third,
who raised his gun to Anton's right,
and gave him just what he deserved.

Anton had not even seen the man,
just jolted, his temple was struck,
his brain exploded, he collapsed,
and that was the end of his luck.

The police hushed the whole thing up,
it was too bizarre to believe,
some feds came by, then his house burned,
with the books soaking in gasoline.

Why are there no more sorcerers?
Why have none else arisen yet?
It's simple, our reaction times
just ain't fast enough for a bullet.