Cartography (revisited)

A poet can only speak

truth of their own life

highest compliment

to know that our explosive

rush of words resonates

our trembling unveiling

of deepest self

touches the secret

depths of another

 

Writing poetry is inherently

solitary

a reflective, lonely

walk in wilderness

of our own hearts and souls

full of unexpected detours

buried memories

hopes

hidden hunter’s snares

unanticipated crossroads

that we must stand before

make a choice

to embrace one of our truths

at the expense of another

 

I am constantly learning

relearning

my own inner terrain

trying to map

this ever-shifting landscape

create a guidebook

to document this poet’s journey

share my small truths

with the world

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

 

8 Comments »

  1. Here there be dragons and unicorns,
    And storms to shatter worlds,
    And boats becalmed on wave-less seas,
    And faeries dancing with butterflys,
    And labyrinthine tunnels of memory,
    And all the wonder of love,
    And all the grief of loss,
    And no end to what may be discovered.
    Here the albatross is shot,
    And also falls away.
    Here, the poet wanders, but is not lost.

    Like

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