by Cheryl Sommese
She said he was a mythical figure
to generate profits.
His followers nonsensically believe
while contemporaneously heeding innumerable messages
the presents they need to buy.
I glance around at luring department store ads
and the fashionably-wrapped gifts
placed tidily under my tree
and wonder if we really
are tragic adaptations
on a string.
But his magnificence endures
even in a world wrought with deceit.
I repeatedly see his light
in certain souls I meet along the way.
Some are professedly his
while others know little
of his splendor,
then realize the narratives
we need to mind
are duplicitously designed prototypes
we instinctively strive
our place in.