There’s a mark on my map,
inked in oil and scratched in haste,
with a moaning mountain
scrawled beside it;
its peak laced in smoke
and dust.
There’s a line on my map,
drawn like a jagged smile across
the plains, eternally sneering
upon the compass,
daring it to falter and turn
its gaze.
There’s a sea on my map,
draped in rolling waves that peak
like summits, tempted to
swallow the earth
and drown the journey before it’s
begun.
There’s a chance on my map,
not rubbed in charcoal or sketched with quills,
but bleeding from beneath the
parchment, as if begging
the wanderer to become the
seeker.
Stellular Scribe 
Fantastic. I love the differing-repetition and the words you left. A clear, beautifully-written piece.
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Thank you so much!
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You’re welcome.
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Such a vivid picture I could imagine even without the picture you provided. Very nice. I love poetry.
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Thank you so much! I love poetry, too (:
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Lovely and wonderful, thank you!
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Thank you for those kind words!
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You’re welcome. And thank you for stopping by on my blog as well.
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Great poem. The sense of a journey into the unknown literally drips from each line. 🙂
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Thank you so much!
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