Magic

Vanishing coins, predicted cards,

Separated fingers, reattached without a scar.

This is what I considered magic,

At a tender age, when tricks were camouflaged.

But then came the day, 

When to scriptures I acquainted my heart.

To come across a greater love,

Selfless to such extremes,

That I doubted whether an illusion it was.

They said that he bled,

Was scourged with whips and lashed,

A crown of thorns he wore,

When they nailed his bleeding body to the cross.

For my sins he died,

Through his sacrifice, redemption I derived,

On the third day he rose from the dead,

Triumphing over death and vile.

Thence, in his death and resurrection,

I discovered true magic exemplified,

Devoid of deceptions,

Enchanting and everlasting over time.