A Journey Without Maps

Loss of latitude, Loss of lines; Suspended, floating in space, Seeking signs, Drifting in a dream Without a destination, The torn soul creating itself By shattered mirrors.

No North Star whispers To awakening, No compass calms The shaking hands, Road that forgets Where I started, And footprints that do not vow The path of man.

I shadow the ghosts. Of could-were, Whispers that disappear into Directions leading inward, Unfolding mysteries Of the roads neglected, Shadows alone, Breaking minds.

My hands contain nothing. But a burden of air, Palms filled with vows That never started. Fingers tracing Invisible lines, Forming a destiny That fate itself fears.

The sun whispers secrets. I am unable to read. The moon grumbles myths. For a nameless survivor, The stars keep quiet. But, naturally, burn, Their shining graves Whispering my name.

Every step is a risk. A bet on time, A dance around that risk Silence shapes, An unscripted journey, Untamed, unmet, A heart without refuge, A house without shelter.

And yet I go on walking, Through fog, through flame, Through valleys that resound With resounding liars, Through the pangs of history, Through the thirst of the future, Through laughter of love, Through thunder of grief.

For maps are for men. Afraid of reality, Who cuts their coordinates? Deep in stone, I am a wanderer. A seeker of signs, A traveler tracing The form of the divine.