Magicians All Around Us

Why, oh-why,
Does the bird fly so high,
As awry as can be without
Spouting a lie.

It misdirects the senses,
To envelop themselves in smells
That make bells ring-ring
Until you can no longer tell

the truth from the fake.

Perhaps a voice of reason
Is reasonably right,
To say this treason.

Or perhaps the offence I take
Will berate my thoughts
Into a whimsical chase
Down towards the lake,
Where I shall peer over the bank
to see a fake.

A lovely person long-forgotten;
The hateful crowd short-remembered.

All the while,
An unreasonable thought hangs
out-of-balance.

// a Weird Fish poem