I wake each morning to wander aimlessly thru the day carrying out the meaningless tasks that fill each seemingly endless day.
Searching, wondering, aching to find the direction the compass points.
Lost, spinning is the needle searching for its place to land, searching for the place my heart shall call home, searching for the place my soul belongs.
Searching to find thy own true self, thy true being, thy inner peace sought quietly yet achingly from within.
A journey traveled endlessly thru time, while lost spinning with the compass needle in a daze.
Footsteps treading deep into the sands on the beach of life, sinking, dragging, slowly with thy compass in hand ,treading into the sunset ending each day as the one before.
With the rising of the sun, rises the hope of a different outcome. Thy compass firm in hand, the wonderment soaring through one’s mind, the air seems clear, the fog lifted, the spirit soars.
The needle spins no more, but points with surreal confidence.
To follow its point is not of choice, it is of purpose, it is of fate…
Thy one’s destination suddenly clear, the path falls open, waiting
To be crossed, drawing thy self at a feverish rate straight to you.
Excitement soars, desire burns, the needle spins no more. The search is no more, My direction is found.
It is you.
descriptive directive of love