No one knows when their magic died.

 Young children knew it best.
Their stick horses snorting
through their riders lips,
galloping faster than the wind
across prairie’s broad vistas
chasing buffalo or escaping Indians.
Their planes zoomed silent into blue skies,
launched from playground swings.
Summer days stretched endless hours
as clouds formed clear pictures
high above their prone pallet on summer’s grass
and an ant struggled by
carrying a crumb bigger than itself.

Young lovers knew it, too.
A brushing of hands stirred pulsing heartbeats,
hearing tender music—a song theirs alone,
and a soda shared with two straws was nectar.

Even grownups knew it sometimes,
their baby’s first smile predicted a destiny,
its first word, so clearly mama,
and there was Johnny’s first home run.

If only it could have lasted forever.

It’s waiting for vision to clear?

Gus Daum


About degus221

A Kansan who has migrated to Oregon.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to MAGIC

  1. iam4peace2014 says:

    I love your imagery, Gus. And I always enjoy your posts.


  2. MaryJo Comins says:

    Gus, this is a wonderful portrayal of the magic that is life. Here’s to clear vision for us all!


Please Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s