Compass Free
by Odin Roark

Beneath the quill’s hovering future,
There flows the present against life's shoreline,
Where yesterday’s experience slumbers
Awaiting new drifting treasures.

Often sweltering in lexiconic bondage,
Words floating aimlessly from calloused struggle
Unanchored to paper's anxious waiting.

Yet…

When sudden lingual currents surface,
Like frenetic tongues of a tsunami,
Swells cap across the page,
Even as a belligerent fever
Often seals the blistered lips
Desperate to voice today’s message.

Nature’s instinctual wisdom
Allows undertows of the past
To give cooling respite,
As ebb and tide make ready
Ancestral sand and salt,
Tragedy’s blood of heroes past,
Necessary wounds now ready to heal.

The tempestuous waves subside,
Embracing inexorable continuance.
As cyclic tides make ready
The natural burial of a life’s thought,
One’s tome of expressions set afloat,
Inviting completion be set afire
By inspiration’s flaming arrow.

And so it is said…

The quill finds final rest,
Inviting ink’s many papered swirls of the past,
To join in celebration,
To burn as one into the next journey
Where dreams will once again
Enjoin passion’s tempest
Discovering life’s quintessential navigation
Explores compass free.