He conjures fancy travel or a picnic in the park,
a nightmare in the city, or a fumble in the dark.
He conjures up confusion and he puts you in the wrong,
he makes believe you’re evil, and he says you don’t belong.
He sweeps away your knights and pawns, and always wins the game;
he’s a rhino in disguise, but he looks both meek and tame.
He steals your self esteem, your possessions and your soul,
and yet it he gains no joy when he knows he’s met his goal.
He conjured from existance your ambition and desire,
he threw your family heirlooms upon a blazing fire,
he jumbled up your children’s lives with cunning tricks and treats,
he hollowed out your brain with a range of warlock feats.
He practised his dark magic on those who got too close,
he tried to break the spirit of the one he loved the most.
He waved his magic wand, and made all others blind;
so watching from a distance, his every act looked kind.
They wrap him up in satin, and the mourners tell their tales
of an angel of compassion, whose goodness never failed.
They fondly wipe a tear away, while you repress a sigh –
even from his coffin, he can conjure up a lie.
I respectfully request that my readers look upon this poem as fiction. As a poet, I couldn’t resist today’s Word Prompt: Conjure, but it only tells a fraction of the story of one who tried to be a better man, despite his snapping demons.
©Jane Paterson Basil