The way is one. The compass—my heart— weathered by years, a moon sealed in a box, its light only an echo. Within me, roads wind like living circuits, veins repeating old instructions, blood carrying the memory of every direction home. I once thought the path was written outside, carved across the stars. Now I know it burns beneath my ribs, each pulse another turning, each ache a reminder to return. The way is dark, its gate kept by fire. The moonlight is faint, but it endures. Even enclosed, it remembers oceans. It whispers: not all light must be seen. Some travels hidden, a beacon felt, not witnessed. And so I walk and crawl, through ash, through storm. The world unravels, but as long as my heart still beats, I will be moved to reach you.
Third stanza is incredible, it resonated with me deeply for truly there is no fate, it is only when you start to move of your own volition do you embark on a journey of your lifetime, regardless of how difficult it is or whether there is anything at the end of it. You no longer expect the world to give you a path and instead carve your own. Well at least that’s how I read it. Thanks for sharing!
i read your bio and immediately knew you were a cool person. Excited to read more of your words!