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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.

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