The Compass

The Compass 

I am the page they skim, the sea they never sound, 

A whispered constellation no map has ever found.

They take my laughter for a life that's light and free,

But never see the tides that turn so quietly in me. 

My heart has built monuments underneath a careless grin,

Entire books of poetry where few have wondered in.

I crave the road that disappears beyond the morning light,

A passport full of stories and a sky that is out of sight. 

I long for foreign streets where no-one knows my name,

Yet hope to find a pair of hands that will always feel the same.

I chase the wind with open arms unburdened by the past,

But treasure every gentle touch that's quiet enough to last. 

Don't cage me with your certainty or anchor every shore, 

For freedom is the reason that I'll always seek more.

But if you wan't, you can hold me close without demanding why,

Be a shelter when I'm weary, not the keeper of my sky.

I'm made of midnight conversations, thunderstorms and flame, 

Of childlike wonder stitched together with a wiser name.

I bloom where curiosity and courage intertwine, 

Collecting fragments of the earth to make their colours mine.