The map is torn, the compass needle spins, The familiar routes now fade from weary sight. A wilderness where my true journey begins, Bathed in the moon's uncertain, silver light. The old paths blur, the signposts disappear, A thrilling terror, sharp and clean and new. I cast aside all doubt, all nagging fear, And trust the stars to guide me, strong and true
poem
The map is torn, the compass…
1 min read
The map is torn, the compass needle spins, — The familiar routes now fade from weary sight.
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