For some kind of magic,

you could melt the polar ice caps with the fire in your fingertips
letting the steaming water drip down
and singeing the skin.

you could move mountains with the weight you carry on your shoulders
and crashing down will come the remains of what you shatter,
piercing the skin.

the potential you have to destroy astounds me
taking me aback
and waiting too long to catch my breath again.

you could kill,
you could kill with what you have tucked so conspicuously
up your sleeve.

i'm on to you,
oh i am.
yet i'm caught in the middle of your game.