Magic

The pen and paper make a perfect tandem.
Starsky and Hutch team spirit when it comes to spell making.
Like witchcraft the craft is honed with practice-makes-perfect phrases,
catchy and coherent yet non-conventional classics
written by candlelight, words that brighten the psyche like sunlight unfiltered,
change the phases of day.
Synapse-popping power surges with no electricity.
Fire's the element never to be watered down,
rooted in earth and fueled by the air,
elementals make a mage come out of caves and cages
to make men move without instrumentals.
A touch of pen to paper to draw blood
or just to make it travel faster,
causing chem reactions
or erratic potent equations unintelligible
yet legible enough to fly with,
to live or to die with,
to aspire to heights of wide ass mountain ranges,
to lows so subterranean it feels like a forever fall
like August and September dancing to eternity.

But this magic masters equivalent exchange.
If spells turn ashes ashes the spell maker gets dust dust.
A particular potion can be poison
but it must be taste tested by masters
for self-experimentation is how the skill is born.
Bitter-sweet or butterscotch,
title to title a reflection of introspection.
But the best magic is made by those who feel the pain and rise above it.
Fire tested, battle scarred
but never scared to show all sides of life.
God forbid that magic ever fades.