We live in a world, where this is this, and that is that.
A three dimensional world, but its people's views two dimensional.
It's either black or white.
Right or wrong.
Honest or a lie.
But for those moments of imbalance, make me wonder if it is real.
A world of magic, and wonder, with new opportunities with every flick of the wand.
I trace the images in my mind, and in my heart knowing somehow it's out there.
I walk down the lonely and cold muggle hallways; feeling invisible out of sight, ignored and forgotten, as if a cloak of invisibility was thrown over my head.
I continue my life with no one listening, understanding or hearing my thoughts and dreams in which I pour my heart into, as if I've been silenced, and terminated of speech, by the simple word "Silencio".
Being taunted, and hurt, by such simple words which seem to torture you, control you, and even kill you on the inside, as do the reserved string of words "Crucio" "Imperio" and "Avada Kedavra".
How the whole world is bounded to the belief that they are better, worthier, or finer then another. Where some judge a figure, by where it's come from, their race, skin tone, and differences.
Like how some pureblood would be insulted by the presence of a muggle, or one who does not share the same blood.
Seeing the word "Mudblood" etched across ones face, instead of seeing the true beauty of them.
How in this world, one will put down, another being, to build themselves up with the gift of power, like how those in the opposite, would drink the sparkling silver blood of a unicorn, ridding it of its beauty.
Our generation of wrong-doers have devoted their lives to pitiful things that don't matter.
Like a horcrux, ripping ourselves apart for rubbish so that we can have more power, and popularity.
When what matters is our family, friends and faith, but they've been blinded by the power to see this, or simply they've lost the will to care, or maybe, they just don't want to.
We are people who have learned to hate ourselves, because we're not beautiful enough, so we try to be someone that were not, as if we've gulped down a horrid tasting potion, non-other than Polyjuice.
But after the hours up, we continue to drink, hoping that eventually we will be that person forever.
Like Barty Crouch Jr., we do it to gain respect, and to be better than the others who want the same.
Our world is filled with things that seem like magic, but only can the bad things relate to their world.
We cannot hop on our brooms and fly away, forgetting everything that's ever happened.
Nor can we heal every injury that's happened on the quidditch pitch.
And that's why I live in hope that it's real, why my heart beats for the magic, and why my mindset seems to depend on it.
How does the innocence of the world seem to not shine through?
All I know, is that I will await in hope until that small barn owl whips itself through my window, dropping a thin beige envelope, sealed with a shimmering red wax stamp, and encased with laughter, love, and good memories to be made.
Because when the opportunity opens, I want to think of myself as part of the good.
A/N: So this was my first fan-fiction, so I hope you enjoyed it. (I am not much of a poetry writer, so I am not familiar with a lot of rules of poetry) If you know a lot about poetry, please leave a review so that I can increase the quality of my work. Thanks.
-Igniting The Fire