by Nick Gisburne
We’re not the worthy wizards in the books,
The sugar-coated school you’ve never seen.
We may as well be castaways, or crooks,
Or any twisted misfit in-between.
They tell us this is where we have to be,
The magicals, the miscreants, the mad.
Our powers, in this prison, fold or flee.
For some the spark was precious, all we had.
They train us, teach us, tell us to resist,
To banish any magic, any trace,
But somehow, in the best of us, they missed
A force, a feeling, nothing can replace.
We turn against the tyrants and their text,
And wonder what to kill or conquer next.
