-- inspired by the works of Phillip Pullman

 

The Wizard, aged just 31, had now become a father;

He was pleased; he was petrified; exhilarated, rather.

He wished there was a manual or a spell book or a course,

Or a recipe to follow, like the one for apple sauce.

 

But the string of every wizard has its own specific tone.

And this can make a wizard feel destitute; alone.

There were times he got things right.  There were times he got them wrong.

The path seemed full of obstacles and very, very long.

 

He taught his son the ways of the magician and the wizard,

And how to find the path in a blindfold or a blizzard;

How to find a magic stick and use it as a wand;

How to make projections of the future and beyond.

 

The wizard worked at Jordan College every single day;

There were often times he had to work and could not stop to play.

His job provided sanctuary, the comfort of a home,

But a wizard who is scared can only cast in monochrome.

 

The wizard lived for years this way; the only way he knew.

He tried his best to teach his son, to show him what was true.

But he’d never touched the face of the Mother who is Love.

He did not know his higher self was cheering from above,

 

Waiting in the wings with a host of bright new tools

That would teach the ways that are not taught in Colleges and schools.

And as he felt so isolated; fractured; incomplete,

He could only cast his lessons through the eyes of self defeat.

 

And so the boy grew up and left the home as children do.

He hoped to be a wizard too but could not make it true.

The wizard knew he’d taught his son to cloak himself with doubt.

He also knew this lesson was his son’s to figure out.

 

So quietly he gave the boy a little bag of gold,

And a map to find the tutor (or a warrior of Old)

Who would teach him to be King of both the spell books and the craft;

And to listen with his heart (which the boy’d been taught was daft).

 

And as the son began to learn the lessons of the Mage,

Love became his focus and it washed away the rage.

He started to be gentle, to be kind and to be clever,

Until at last he understood a heart-drive lives forever.

 

At the age of thirty-one (the boy was now a wizard)

He climbed upon his horse and he galloped through the blizzard.

And at the gates of Jordan he was opened like a sigh:

His dad was standing; waiting, with a tear in his eye.

 

They looked at one another with the wisdom of the heart.

They knew they’d shared this journey, absolutely, from its start.

And now the wizards cast their spells TOGETHER, full of joy,

Knowing they are also just a father and his boy.

 

28th February 2011 © Simon Welsh Poetry 

(updated 31st October 2024)