Compass To My Heart

Follow the compass to my heart.

Will you get lost,

like I do everyday? Do you lack direction like

my feet that run and walk
and glide on roads
not even written in maps?

Some days we take the wrong
battered and beaten path,
dusty and worn or
clean and barren, and end

up in places we never intended

that were made for us, alone

Follow the footprints in

the sand on the shores of my soul

before the ocean swallows the

memories. 

Sometimes the miles

we travel over time

can never

compare to the

distance in each other's 

hearts

through uncharted waters, dark blue
and deep and damned in god-knows-what,

and burned bridges—black like the
ashen faces of every heart
we once loved—
follow into the depths

the golden compass to my poor heart

let the northern wind

guide you, and the southern

sea swallow you

and let the eastern sunrise

consume you

and the western sunset

take you home

because some men will never

stop to ask for directions,

but most women will