The colour of magic is the illumination
Of a million little lights in your brain
When you breathe in a new book, or cake batter.
The colour of magic is the feather-light feeling
Of being a thought inside someone’s head.
The colour of magic is, standing on a rock
Kept on a vast black sheet of paper
On which droplets of paint, both vivid and invisible
Have been raining for millennia.
The colour of magic is you face dragged in the earth-
The home of worms, and corpses, and tree roots
And you and me and broken, fallen stars.
The colour of magic is learning to not strain against your bonds
But gently to let go, as the moon wanes.
The colour of magic is to love-
The love of wakings, and the love of flyings to and from.
The colour of magic is as alive as hands, searching
For cellphones first thing in the morning,
Alive as pouring milk into cereal, or the other way around
As robing, and armouring, and riding into battle,
Drinking away disillusionment,
But one time in the life, speaking truth
About how, once upon a time when you were asleep,
Somebody poured snakes into your body
And turned all your castle guards to stone.
The colour of magic is how you end this story-
How you end your story, and all stories you will ever be told.
The colour of magic is a question you should not ask
But probably will, if you really care.
The colour of magic is reaching out and grabbing the sun
To make a baby laugh, and it is the sound of its laughter too
Because the sun is in your hand, but also in the sky!
The colour of magic is Always; and Once,
But mostly just Now.
The colour of magic
Is a scale of the dragon at the mountain summit
But also the bee fluttering
Among wildflowers at the foothills.
#poem #poetsofinstagram #poetry #magic #fantasy #art #scifi #terrypratchett #discworld #thecolourofmagic