Lost days of Wonder

Some days I sit and hope

That somewhere in the world,
A little magic still exists—

Something capable of making
Cold science pause
And shake its head
In disbelief.

Little inspires wonder anymore.

Even the word itself
Feels worn smooth
From overuse.

The days of innocence and enchantment
Seem long gone,

As though the world
Has lost touch
With its inner child.

Yet the magic I seek
Is not found in tricks
Or miracles.

It is the magic of surprise.

The feeling that stirs
When you stand before
An ancient tree in a silent forest.

The energy that comes
From being among ancient things.

The magic of stories
Passed from one voice to another.

The magic of imagination.

I miss wonder.

I miss people
Who still believe in it.

I live in the real world,

But mine is very different
From yours.