5 minute poetry

[Thaumaturge]

A very quick one...

Conjuration

A shadow flickers on the wall,
A torchflame burns the last of its fuel,
A man stands nervously before the circle,
Incanting over the still red pool,

He finishes his spell,
Stands breathlessly, waiting,
And the small red pool,
Begins to move.

His spells have opened the way
His lifesblood has given the energy,
His words have chosen the summoned,
But his charm cannot hold it.

The torchlight burns down,
The shadows swallow the last of the room,
The man is not there,
But he did not leave.