I've been trying to write magic:
bring back the sorrow-less mysteries
of yesterdays;
all the enigma of today is
tinged & tainted
with fear and regret.

Show me how to shed myself
down to my childhood skin:
from before the only rain
that quenches the ground beneath
are the the tears of a broken soul.

Hope has eluded me
for so many revolutions,
I'm dizzy attempting contemplation.
Time and numbers,
words and heartaches,
begin to pulsate in sync,
until all that remains
IS that pulse
of heavy reality.

But...
I've been trying to write magic,
so help me shed this grown skin
that weighs me down.