magic is fantasy and religion is chasing god,

but i beg to differ

when fire spells look just like raising lazarus

from the dead.

ice turns to water with a mutter,

nature does so without asking

and yet what is greatly treasured

is scarcity.

price jumps, onlookers look on with envy

no one stamped an endorsement

save the emperor quite bare

though none would mention such a truth

when stories can be painted across

a canvas, no one is for the wiser.

tell, tell to the sun

tell, tell to the moon

or the stars

does it matter?

i think not

when the sky descends and the blanket

wraps around a child

who snores so.

it is horrendous to wake a tale

quite languid, joyful, pretty

for alternative universe mean that

nightmares must come to pass.

pray it happens not,

for fantasy and religion intertwine

but we call it by another name

does it matter?

no, no, no

says the author who splashes ink

on white canvas now filled with black, purple

and colors of the rainbow

with empty promises.

does it matter?

yes, yes, yes

says the politician who needs

to harness the masses once again

to see the light.

ah what a light it is!

and then the curtains fell,

the doves died

but no one saw that

the child’s spirit has long left the body,

all that was left were snores

from the old man who

believed his kid still alive.