What would the magician be up to?: A poem 

(He was the mendicant with just one glove 

So, he could never claim his only love) 

He wondered between action and consequence 

How action was pervaded by the righteous?! 

And consequence was encumbered by evil! 

The magician did not pursue alchemy’s gold 

He only bothered with what sleight of hand did unfold 

A dove flew; a rabbit popped and leaped 

The hat had a well that was so deep 

Out of a mere napkin came bouquets of flowers 

This magic was divinely empowered 

But Alas! When he cut his ideals in half 

He couldn’t fix it back! His audience laughed 

They could see he went pale with fright 

From the onlookers, only cruel reception did alight 

And he rushed to leave the stage to hide his plight 

Did he feel shamed at his diminution in plain sight? 

Abracadabra seems no illuminating word 

In the echelons of integrity, it is seldom heard 

So, his eyes bled tears through the shame-filled night 

Did he still have the wherewithal to carry on the fight?