The Only Magician

My empty papers piled under the shelf;

I took a single one to jot my mind,

My magic pen found inside my draw,

Inked with perfection with no minor flaw.

I sketched things that I always wanted,

Dreaming they would come to life;

Also thought going back to my cradle again,

Forgetting all regrets and strife.

I wrote a few scary lines;

Some images of the midnight gloom,

Praying my ink shouldn't just appear;

When I rest there in my tomb.

Life is just magic,

But the one we never enjoy;

As every day is a risky show,

Like a child handling a toy.

Your life is in your hands;

As you are the only magician,

Every spell you spin has a chance;

When this poem and life find relation.