Poets And Magicians

My heart is a magician's hat.

In it, you'd find monochromatic strings

Attached to my veins.

You'd also find

73 specific orchids

A dozen of romantic books

Chocolates, lighting

And everything you ever look for.

But just like love and faith

There's a point at which people stop.

Believing in magic

And claim's it to be deception.

Magicians are like poets 

For poets (us) love is the continuum of universe

It needs space and time

And roams in an endless void.

Growing. Breaking. Growing.

And for magicians.

Love is like a rabbit in a hat.

You know its there.

But if you keep the Rabbit for a long time.

It suffocates and dies.

Time has thus killed many love stories and many baby rabbits.

One thing is, none has time

Nor poets nor magician's

For them, time is merely a reminder

Of their deadline.

Of their time here.

Of how long they're here 

So when you hear either of them saying,

See you next time.

I assure you, you will.