The Map

You said to me with furrowed brow,

“Your path is not so clear right now.

To me your way of living life

Is confusing for a wife.

You must have a map to guide you,

Use my map; it’s tried… and true, too.”

“There is no doubt,” I said, “that your…

Map’s a guide to life and more.

It’s researched, proven, crisp and clear.

Followed well, it brought you here.”

But…

I’m not so good at reading maps.

Distractions act like little traps.

While your map says, “For day, go right,”

My beacon shines from left, toward night.

Once again I stumble port,

Once again my aim falls short.

And then I hear another call,

I turn again. Again, I fall.

“Use my map,” you say to me.

“It answers questions, and you’ll see,

The path it sets for you is straight.

The wall you hit becomes a gate.”

I’m sorry that I seem misguided.

With attention subdivided,

And intentions that collided.

Had your warnings I abided,

Life might better be provided.

But…

Understand that I am guided,

Not by maps or warnings chided.

Through the din of life uncertain,

Past the fog, beyond the curtain,

Comes the call that beckons me,

Like a sailor home from sea…

A distant drummer’s beat I hear,

Thrumming broad and far and near…

It’s not a map that guides my course.

It’s not a path that finds a source,

And though perhaps not clear to you,

It is a force that pulls me through.

Love is not a common vision,

Clearly seen with sharp precision.

Nor is it without division,

A trouble-free, unsplit decision.

Rather in a fog it’s found,

Hopeful fingers feeling ‘round.

Like the sea upon the shore,

Wave on wave caressing more.

Uncertain in the course it charts,

Love’s guided by two beating hearts…

Beating like that drummer’s sound,

Unmapped, uncharted and unbound.