The Wishmaker - a poem by S D Wickett
The Wishmaker is a poem written by Bournbrook’s S D Wickett.
The Wishmaker is a poem written by Bournbrook’s S D Wickett, and can be read below. For more of his poems, follow him on his Substack, Instagram account @songsofafoggedmind_ and Twitter account @essdeewickett.
The Wishmaker
I am the Wishmaker,
The giver of dreams,
Come to me at your peril,
For dreams aren’t what they seem.
Whatever you desire,
I shall inspire,
The Gods to make it true.
For score decades,
I have played this game,
And yet am I to lose.
You want fame, fortune, love and luxury,
Fine,
But I’ll take something too,
Something you cannot replace,
And it will be that you will see,
That you are all alone,
With nothing but your dream.
A boy came to my door,
And asked if it be so,
That any girl that he should meet would gladly take him home.
He wanted love, and lust, and fun,
To never feel unseen,
I made it so that he would know,
What a fool that boy had been.
For he did not specify,
That he would not lie,
With just any old girl out there,
But they grew starved like a pack of wolves,
And soon love wasn’t enough.
They sought his flesh, and bone, and blood,
And with a thud, he came back to my door.
He begged and cried,
That he shan’t die,
But dear boy, this is what you wished for.
I am the Wishmaker,
The giver of dreams.
A woman came to me,
No older than twenty.
She wished to be in movie scenes,
And every magazine.
She wanted fame, and praise, and rank,
To never be alone,
I made it so, that she would know,
A deadly seed was sown.
For she did not predict,
That she would be a god,
An icon of her time,
With every moment watched.
By gleeful eyes,
Not satisfied,
With mere mortal subjection.
Eyes on every wall and door
Never a moment of calm.
And with her cracked and shattered mind,
She crawled to my embrace,
She begged and hissed,
For another fate,
But my dear, you wanted this.
I am the Wishmaker,
The giver of dreams.
An old thing slithered in,
Barely a hold on life.
I knew right away,
What he would say,
He’d wish to never die.
He wanted to live forever,
Be young and fit again.
I made it be that he would see,
The cataclysmic end.
For he did not forsee,
Why you do not come to me.
First; I crushed his nation,
With asteroids and storms,
Then I took his species,
And left him in the ruins.
And when a century had gone by,
Through tear-stained groans,
He asked me why,
But he knew, the years had made him wise,
He’d asked for this, a billion goodbyes.
I am the Wishmaker,
The giver of dreams.
So these are just a few,
Of the souls I call my own.
I do not wish to see them fall,
But how could they atone?
The arrogance,
The cult of self,
The devil would be proud.
And so aloud,
I call to all who wish to visit me,
Your soul will be mine too.
And it will be that you will see,
You're a fool to not keep what you have.
I am the Wishmaker,
The giver of dreams.
