Maps show so many things
Treasures and tales
Of lost golden rings.
Some maps are dirty
and yellowed with age
Some are crisp
some printed on noble page.
Some are folded
Hidden in some corner
And some are rewarded
With County Recorders
Every person draws their own map
Unknowing and alone
We are born a blank page.
A small light in the road
guides the way
To a scale bar of being
And a perspective life key.
Who else but God
could show us the way
When we have no idea where we are going
No idea what to say.
We are not born
With a draftsman's keen eye
How can we tell
The mountain from the sky
But if you look around on your map
there are a few hidden clues
To where you were born
and What you will chose.
One knows not
The roads she will take
Or the mountains she will climb
Or the fences of fate.
But of the drawing of maps
The most important is such
That the North Arrow
most importantly
always faces up.
Each moment in time
is but a little golden place
framed in your head
A concept of space.
(...rough draft. )
No comments:
Post a Comment