My Mage

My Mage

By JFarrell


My mage,

May not be a mage

(haven’t decided yet);


My story will have a dragon,

And my dragon needs a mage,

Someone who commands magic

Magician and dragon is like

Tom and Jerry

Can’t have one without the other.


So, my magician….

Has long, thin fingers,

To manipulate the elements,

Delicate fingers,

To weave his symbols of conjuring,

Setting the world around him ablaze,

Or encasing it in ice, preserving it.

Expressive fingers,

Tender fingers…

So tender, I want to be caressed by them,

To control the elements, and use those same fingers to convey their love for me,


I gotta work on them fingers more.


And I know it’s a cliche, a stereotype,

But the eyes are piercing.

Don’t know the colour, yet,


All that power,

That responsibility,

The eyes convey wisdom, truth,

Trust, loyalty

And ,

Always searching for truth

What he, or she, sees isn’t everything,

So they always look,

And I mean REALLY look

To see what you are hiding.


And, I’m so ashamed it took this long to consider,

Maybe, my mage is a she

(am I really that sexist? I so apologise, I thought I was better than that)





This is how my mage is born.

As with my dragon,

They are here now.


My dragon is sooooooooooo beautiful :)

I wanna cry

And, my mage so heroic

I would love to be my mage.


I bet your dragons (and rainbows)

Are more beautiful,

More majestic,

Than mine :)



Tell me;

I would really love to see,


Stand in awe.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

can i really write a book?

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Dark Angels Dark Light

I am the last of my kind, the last wizard on earth, the last of the guardians of the old world who were sent protect God's newest creation from the fallen angels in the days after the war. Having powers over the very elements of earth and of life itself, my people waged war for thousands of years against the fallen children of heaven, and against Lucifer himself; fighting back the evil until the day of the dark angel's demise. Now I stand alone against the forces of chaos, as I pray for the return of my brother who will stand by side in the second war that has awakened the dragon. I await the day of his return.

When Wizards Get Drunk

They dance
Twirling and shining in gowns
of purple and sequins
That float all around

Their strange-wedged shoes; glasses
and wands hats and bugs
Exciting, enchanting
Their cauldrons brew fun

And MUSE slowly turning
she's sipping on wine
Laughter more contagious
than in sober minds

The lights are a-dancing and
mist's in the air
this spell so enchanting
such freedom is rare

Til Monday it comes
They are back in their suits
Their black shoes, briefcases
with faces as mute

The muse she is typing
and downing caffeine
Checking her email
with daydreams obscene

That fun in a bottle
and put on a shelf
Can't break it or sip it
Til says weekends' elf

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