Master Illusionist

The world flaunts her stunning self, gorgeous curves and all, and the wide-eyed onlooker gapes at her, drooling, intoxicated with love, nose upturned slightly, drinking in the fragrant smells emanating from her direction, roses and flowers, a blend, sweet, with a slight hint of something sharp. He doesn’t notice it. She flicks her hair, tossing the scent, and his nose quivers with delight. The world flaunts her beautiful self, and the onlooker gapes at her, she reaches out from under her flowing colorful dress, and presents a green wad, and beckons, vice temptations, oh, so close to the fingertips of the wrinkled begging hand of her seeker. He’s old, very old, they say his entire life spent this way, but he sprints after those delicate fingers beckoning, intoxicated with love, stumbling and wheezing heavily, labored breaths, but his watery eyes never leave that sickening beauty. She breaks out in loud laughter, a coarse braying noise, mocking, but it is music to his ears, for eyes and ears are deaf and blind when the eyes of the heart have opened. He’s inching his way up, crawling now, oh he’s so frail, legs thin as a plank, clicking with each movement. She beckons once more, Heart attack He’s dead. ‘Love kills,’ they say. The veils fall away revealing, a pale, ghastly, drooping face, tangled hair, wispy and white, sunken cheeks and blood-shot eyes, parched lips, peeling skin, and warts. This is the world - a witch, a master illusionist, bent to trick and deceive and entrap, yet the lover is as blind as a mole-rat, seeing only the mirage, inevitably falling into the deep dark pit, empty-handed and forgotten, But she laughs, the world laughs, turning away with no look back, and finds another lover, seeker begging for her love, and she smiles cruelly, a wicked smile. The test begins again, and this one’s young.