Life lines on palms, star signs in skies,
random tea-leaf patterns in china cup,
false old-wife fables, patent such lies;
wine turned vinegar we so readily sup.
what damage these delusions have done,
– meaning sought in mythic tales?
scratch-cracked mirrors, moons not sun:
unevenly weighted Libra’s scales.
who holds our future, where is the key?
all hunger for meaning, true hope;
there has to be more than “let it be”
more needed than astral telescope.
eagerly scanned, life’s faint horizon,
– does any map mark best taken road?
what compass to focus our eyes on,
who helps to carry our lonely load?
I turn to maker, kind star-fields lord,
this wandering lost lamb blessed,
angels protect, double-edged sword;
God’s signet seal, pinion pressed.
“They indulged in all the black arts of magic and sorcery. In short, they prostituted themselves to every kind of evil available to them. And God had had enough”. – 2 Kings 17: 17