The magician

A slight of hand,
Too fast for the eye,
You fail to catch the act,
Leaves you baffled and mystified
As claps galore all around.

And he stands smiling wry,
Bows slightly, his head,
A mark of his trade,
Hiding his utter contempt,
For the wretched fools,
Clapping away.

Eating fresh
His make believe act,
With eyes wide as if true,
He hated them all,
But their money talked
More than the voices
In his head.

Done with the acts,
The false masks off,
He would be lost in usual thoughts,
About the greatest magic he had ever known.
That after all,
He would still rise tomorrow,
To show again the wretched tricks.