There is an ancient magic, long forgotten,
But we dream of it with tales of hobbit holes, And villages that hang from rainforest canopies And enchanted castles that only appear At a certain time of year, And only to the pure in heart. It is the magic of being there, And yet blending in so well With the nature of things As to be invisible. But long ago, we lost the art. It fell into the sacred, guarded, chasm That lies between here and the heavenly realm. But this magic is returning to the earth. It is claiming all those who can forsake the extra thing And fly upon the wings of unheard voices That speak out of the sacred place. But the gift of invisibility Is only for the pure in heart. And the sacred chasm opens now And for a time, a thousand years perhaps. And eventually, it will close back up. Will you claim the sacred gift While it is open?
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