Wizard of the Night

Far up in the treachery of the thundering black sky,
there stands a tower above the mountains oh so high.

The tower of a powered man with magic of great might,
the spells he casts in shining blasts in the mystics of the night.

The wizard stands in his chanting room with potions all around,
he pours them in a giant cauldron brewing magic’s of light and sound.

His staff he swings while conjuring the start of the perfect spell, and he works alone as the moonlight shone on the ringing midnight bell.

He searches through his book of magic,
avoiding any spells of tragic.

His fingers raise with a glowing blaze and energy flickers out,
the glowing gas forms a blue lit mass that is an orb without a doubt.

It spin and spun with shining beams,
he next adds power in flashing gleams.

His tower gives off an eerie glow,
across the night sky the magic shall flow.

Now he stands in his tower so strong,
the spell was complete and to him it shall belong.

Now for those who shall wish it, may be immortal,
as the great spell will be held in the eternal porthole.