This is the first post in my blog. It is worth revisiting as my newest travels begin.
We were anointed cartographers.
confused; pens and tools sprouted from our palms.
We cried out, 'but we've no eyes, we've shaky hands',
but still, they demanded maps.
How could we trace the things we'd seen,
how could we know the scale of the mountains-
we get altitude sickness from the size of our dreams.
The storms we've seen have washed away kings,
The terrain we've trekked has been forsaken.
How can we measure the depths of those rivers
that left currents in us, leading to what?
What can we make of the places that made us-
How can we explain to you of the paths we have taken?
We followed the glint of a golden spool that pulled us
From our minotaurs and from our mazes,
That is all that we can say.
And from this grew tracks,
Perhaps we can hold you in our eyes until you
Get a glimpse of what you're looking for,
But we cannot show the way.