If magic was poetry

He would be the pen that created the prose

With sparking gold eyes

And hair black as ravens wings

Standing against an alabaster colored sky

A striking figure against the stone of life

Fire arched from finger tips

Bright as dragon scales and full of lies

Promises of safety and warmth in the flickering flame

When all it holds is the demise for anyone who is unwise enough

To wrench a cry from the golden king


This poem is about: 
Our world


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