When I was
an observer,
I’d stay in the shadows
And contribute nothing
to the social artwork
before me.
I sat aloof,
convinced that
my subtle shade
would be wasted
on ignorant eyes
and lost in the chaos
of uneducated opinions.
I critiqued the disorder,
the ugly colours
that showed.
Then I realised,
the magnificence
could only be felt
and not seen.
My own brush strokes
had infinite effects
on everything around them
not visible,
but present.
That is the beauty
of lives colliding.
To Be A Magician 