Magic was a river once,
Running wild and clear,
It healed the land, it named the stars,
It never asked for fear.
Hands came down with measured laws,
Built walls where none had been,
Called the current something cursed
When they tried to chain the wind.
Fire never chose the crown,
Nor shadow chose the throne,
It was the grip upon the spark
That learned to harden stone.
Magic is not evil,
It answers to no lie,
But chains around a living force
Are how the worlds all die.
The wound is not the power,
The sin is in control—
For nothing born to breathe and move
Survives a cage of gold.
They taught the flame to kneel and bow,
They taught the storm its place,
Carved commands into the sky
And called it order’s grace.
The spell began to scream in time,
The light learned how to burn,
Not from what it was allowed—
But from what it couldn’t unlearn.
The Veil still hums with broken vows,
With power bent too far,
Not evil born of magic’s heart,
But hands that feared the dark.
Magic is not evil,
It never sought to reign,
But bind a force that dreams and grows
And watch it learn pain.
The rot begins with mastery,
With will that claims it knows—
The spell did not destroy the world,
The leash is what it chose.
Give fire space and it will warm,
Give shadow room to fade,
But grip the light with shaking hands
And watch a god be made.
Magic is not evil,
It remembers how to heal,
But every lock and sacred chain
Turns mercy into steel.
When power’s caged by fearful kings
And wisdom’s left behind,
It’s not the spark that ends the age—
It’s the hand that closed its kind.
