common domesticity

is killing me faster than my poor habits


no wonder we fake visionaries

love our fake illuminations


drink drugs indiscriminate sex

all the illusions of youth and


incomprehension of eon-old notions

of the spiritual and the profane


which themselves might have been the evasions

of the seekers of those previous times


hamper us still as if the centuries between here and now

were nothing but a momentary pipe dream


and I see myself in who was there (maybe it was me myself)

and wonder what progress the soul can make


making the same mistakes lifetime after lifetime








Content (c) 2008-2015 Philip Milito.