Poem January 30, 1960 Issue

THE CONJUROR

Rita Berman

By sleight of hand,
Trick, prestidigitation,
A conjuror makes things seem
What they are not.
We pay to see him make
(Through smooth enchantment)
Something from nothing,
Here seem there, cold hot.

So mortal mind
Throughout a mortal's dreaming
Conjures, employs its wiles
On dormant thought,
Makes nothingness seem something,
Evil alluring,
Shadow seem substance,
Spirit (true substance) nought.

Spectators we, alert—
Not pliant, gullible!
So cease we to pay
Delusion's tax, its fee
Of sorrow, doubt, fear, pain.
Ever God's audience,
We hold our thought in Truth,
Unshackled, free.

Rita Berman

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