Surreal

magic is fantasy and religion is chasing god, but i beg to differ when fire spells look just like raising lazarus from the dead. ice turns to water with a mutter, nature does so without asking and yet what is greatly treasured is scarcity. price jumps, onlookers look on with envy no one stamped an endorsement save the emperor quite bare though none would mention such a truth when stories can be painted across a canvas, no one is for the wiser. tell, tell to the sun tell, tell to the moon or the stars does it matter? i think not when the sky descends and the blanket wraps around a child who snores so. it is horrendous to wake a tale quite languid, joyful, pretty for alternative universe mean that nightmares must come to pass. pray it happens not, for fantasy and religion intertwine but we call it by another name does it matter? no, no, no says the author who splashes ink on white canvas now filled with black, purple and colors of the rainbow with empty promises. does it matter? yes, yes, yes says the politician who needs to harness the masses once again to see the light. ah what a light it is! and then the curtains fell, the doves died but no one saw that the child's spirit has long left the body, all that was left were snores from the old man who believed his kid still alive.