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.