The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

Can you see me?
There by the trunk he found buried by pirates.
The candle is almost burnt out; dripping like blood on the box from the sand.

The stage is all set. I peep round the curtain, audience seated.
I should cry out, but they don’t see me at all.

His power is legend: they all flock to see him.
His show is a sell-out weeks in advance.

Peacocks relinquish their feathers to him, tulips succumb to his black art.
The upturned clock still marks time, but I suspect the hands move just for him.

Mother’s scent bottle (her precious Henrick’s) is sweet and bitter and empty.
He told me she’d left; I wasn’t so sure.

There’s something unnatural about the porcelain doll with soft white hair, sad eyes and mother’s red lips.

They say these South Sea pearls were cursed and then buried.
He found them and took them, before he took me.

I try the telephone; no-one can hear me.
I try to move but I’m drifting away.

My chance to escape; I see the stage door.
I’ve seen him trap souls in bubbles before.