To the Sorcerer

I would imagine thee with gossamer hair, whitened not from age but prodigy.
Your enrapturing eyes, the color of molten ice. Crystalline, your soul
whose subtle nuance works magic.

Fire from air, ice out of mist, supernatural acts denied to exist.
Current from cloud, quake in the slew- arcane spirit, alchemy true.
The darkest twilight cannot hide your sadness nor fearful sight of others.

Apart, alone, adrift, you are the stuff of fantasy, metaphysics, ritual.
Alluring magus, do you dazzle with wisdom or charlatanism?
Diviner, evoker, and conjurer you are. Thus, I dare not speak your name.

NEON

Liberty floating
through a tube.

From each glass bend
flees the inert phoenix.

Is it just light
or freedom?

The hum
of atoms rejoicing?

If the tube at
any point should break.
the wings will spread
untouched into the sky.

Forever a flight of
bouncing feathers.

Envious am I.