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How can I be so grief stricken,
From the very start I was mistaken,
From the instructions I did read,
Till all my wants became my needs,
To my head down to my fingers,
From the bells to the ringers,
From back to front,
From sharp to blunt,
It twists it turns,
It shoots it burns,
This childhood dream of mine.

Shape shifting was my dream,
Apparently magic wasn’t the answer,
Elusive and true to its form magic had its side effects,
Pain and loss of vision,
Till I decided not to be a magician,
What I thought proved to be a fake,
But still from me it did take,
Now as I lie here scarred for life,
I think “Man, did I strike out this time”