Yet another poem

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What is magic, if it’s not…

The air that we draw in.
The blood that runs through the veins.
The gravity that makes us fall.
The flowers that make things right.
The blue of crystal clear water.
The flames that turn us into ash.
The lingering smell of fresh pancakes.
The things that go bump in the night.
The frantic beating of an excited heart.
The lovely eggs of the mama birds.
The tranquil nighttime sky.

Well… this is similar to the one I wrote yesterday, but I felt I liked this version more. Although I do like that one too..

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Magic, magic everywhere!

Survival on Earth
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Here’s a contribution of mine for NaPoWriMo. I figured I should be writing at least one poem for it, if not participating.

Magic is everywhere



There is magic everywhere:
In the breath that you take and draw out;
The way the air doesn’t get lost
Into one of the million confusing pipes inside.

There is magic everywhere:
In the way your miniscule brain muscles
Along with the larger ones, work in sync,
Like a flawlessly programmed machine.

You can see magic everywhere!
There’re pores that absorb water from the dirt,
Tiny capillaries that fight the Earth’s pull,
And send water high up, towards the leaves.

This world is a truly magical place;
For, the word ‘fall’ makes sense here
‘Cause of a spell binding things to the Earth’s centre;
A spell called ‘gravity’ by the witch, Mother Nature.

The place we live is magical as hell
For, it gave us feelings, good and bad,
Taught us morals – the ones to be followed
To get to heaven.

The Earth isn’t magical alone!
The warm sunrays that reach our skin,
The bright light that makes our eyes scrunch up
Is unearthly magic indeed.

The place where we live is magical, really.
Where certain things can float away in the air, without a care
Like the souls who’ve found their peace.
It is a magical place, indeed.