Caught in the glimmering shimmering,
The magic sphere, floating in your mind,
Like a copper stove plate simmering,
Burning, searing, and your focus it will find,
Changing shapes, but yet familiar scams,
Fills all your thoughts and steals,
An empty space it fills, with all flimflams,
Leaves no room, how real love one feels,
Makes love into some distant thing, instead just it,
Uses magic to disguise it’s real,
With objects that it’s magic fit,
Instead of feelings you can feel,
Replaced by things material, like boats and cars, and carpets too,
Replacements of the real thing,
Your night robe, underwear and shoe,
Or your nightly fling,
Think the magic that is love,
First in your thoughts be still,
Always hold those thoughts above,
In all you do, or will!
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Georg