The Magician They called him an illusionist, Never a magician. They said he practiced tricks, Fooling ordinary people. His fingers were quicker Than the eye. Mind, overriding his heart, Ignored a bigoted culture. Needing to change the world, he played by the rules for a while. Always, his fingers quicker Then the eye. He abandoned his trade, Illusions became a burden. Inconsequential jobs he held, Heart in turmoil, dragging his feet. But his finger were still quicker Then the eye. Material existence enclosed, In a small-minded world. He was an illusionist who wanted To be called a Magician. His fingers were always Quicker than the eye. He watched society change form, Inundated by false guidance. He heard the outcry for justice, A desperate need for reform. He could not use fingers Which were quicker than the eye. Life became impossible, Gone were hope and vision. He then looked at his fingers, Sensing his time has come. Suddenly the world needed Fingers quicker than the eye. With fingers quicker than the eye, He gave them hope and joy. Made their world brighter, Found the lost visions. But they kept calling him an illusionist, Never a Magician. Hanna