My fingers linger, so slow to move. Though in days younger it was rare to lose. This game of sleights, and speed of eye. As I age, my illusion, slowly dies. My hands marked, branded, with burns and scars. Too many potions and burning cards. Scarlet stains engrained in my flesh. A room in my house full of half used decks. My eyes see no wonder in the magic of old. It's nothing like when I was young, and was first told. The love in the flask, no joy to bring, My brain is engineered to this magic thing. What once was strange, is now so plain, The new things brought forth are all the same, My eyes don't see like most people's do, They see one angle, and I see two. If I could have one wish, one granted, If it was mine, and to me was handed, I would wish to unlearn the knowledge I've gained, So I could once again not know, and be amazed.