Chase we, all,
Things that glitter and shimmer,
Things that slither up against us,
Like a lovely someone in a short skirt on a street corner,
Smelling of perfume and friendly virtue.
Yet even when our desires are met
We are unfulfilled, more hollowed than before.
Phantoms dissolve, mocking
Such foolish mortals as we.
Such an old, old story.
Two roads diverge in a yellow wood,
And by taking the one most traveled by,
Can we ever
Retrace our steps, and take that other path.
The truer one,
The one that could make all the difference?