The Merlin

I see him there;
casually mixed with
the common trends of
everyday people, he
is not dressed as though
his mind leaps with
ancient mysticism, there are no
arcane springs
jetting out from
his cuffs

He, in turn, seems as oblivious
as the rest of them
though I know better, for I have
been
his lesser,
once before. A pity, they
don’t realize
in whose presence they stand

For, it was nights ago
I watched him
hat, and cloak, and beard
and all, arranging,
with ritual practice, strange
oddments, and artifacts
about his weathered table,
then all at once
he disappeared, his body remained
however,
I could see quite plainly
that in his head
he was wandering (someplace
unknown to me), then
with writing utensil in hand
before candle flame,
and dark
he wrote from within
that place, that
inner madness, I never knew what,
for I did not dare disturb him

eventually, and
with great exhaustion,
he returned, and
his eyes found pleasure
in what he’d done
,and laughed.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

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