Maps Poem by Steve Woodward

Maps



Life is a series of choices she said
Paths to walk and roads to take
We passed the brook where my ideals lay
Cooling beneath the stream
And indecision turned over
Like an engine in my mind.

It is hard to start a new chapter
When you don’t have a story to write
And the words won’t come
As if scared or shy of the page
So I stand at the crossroads
Conscience ticking over.

I wanted then to wind down my eyes
And let the breeze flow into me
Freshening and new
Like a rebirth, whispering through leaves
But I stand here idling
Lost and confused at the paths I should take.

Until you appear.
Like a map.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: waiting
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