Sleight of Hand

Quick, look over there
Good, you missed my sleight of hand
This act is getting stale
And the audience is on to me
Time to pack up the tricks
In their old worn cases
Take off the threadbare costume
Patched over the years with lies
Wipe off the garish stage makeup
That steady simulation of a smile
It served me well for a time
Covering the gross inadequacies
Keeping everyone at a safe distance
No volunteers required here
To perpetuate the illusions on the stage
And now for the grand finale
Before I skulk off into the night
Flash, boom, crash
Spectacular pyrotechnics
And when the smoke clears
I’m gone

Header Image by LMoonlight

Ossuary

A poem by Meg Sorick

My memory castle is a ruin
Its halls littered with debris
My fingers brush the dusty walls
And I strain in the gloom to see

The once bright panels and paintings
Have mouldered and mildewed with time
The shining pristine sculptures
Are crumbled and coated with grime

Moonlight streams through rotted beams
When I cast a glance above me
For the roof has fallen inward
And its heaven I can see

When I come at last to the final room
I resist the urge to turn and flee
The handle stays my trembling hand
My closet is an ossuary but I have lost the key

Season of Wither

Poem and artwork by Meg Sorick

The rains have come
And the birds have gone
Just the carrion crows
Cackling like crones
Gather in the bare branches
Watchful for a meager meal

Falling Hawthorne berries
And delicate dandelion clocks
Mark the passage of time
Golden gorse and crumbling
Stone walls
Creep the ages by

It is the season for reflection
When death is all around us
To close the doors and windows
On the cold and howling wind
When the brief and bitter daylight
Yields to darkness and decay

To wither or to weather?
Hidden and hermetic
Insulated, introverted
To waste these hours of isolation?
Or cling to life and dream of love
In a springtime so far away