Evita, we always want
to believe, it seems, that
sympathetic tongues
from marble palaces care
or that
dashboard Jesuses
can save us...or
books of philosophy.
Ignorance
esteems the dictator and
obeys the shepherd
whose promise of paradise
slips through
fingers like sand--
no less, the prideful wise
who stumble
through their fetishes.
We live within our delusions
and enduring hungers
always seeking
the golden chalice
filled with the
all-healing palliative
that will restore our lost souls.
But where can we really find
contentment, meaning,
the true path winding
through the stars and our true
friends waiting in the dark?
We go in a mad circle
always returning
to where we began
and never recognize the old
path, the well traveled one,
as the one
we have tread before.
