Spinning Compass


The gentle tapping of my feet

makes music a clairvoyant would struggle to hear

or see

For this path I walk hides secrets of my own making

the secret of not knowing

what turn I am taking

The plan has been lost

amongst burnt out papers

set fire to months ago

in a field of fake snow

and forgotten dreams  I had set to always linger

The ghost haunting eternally

The constant burglar

always taking

never giving

But never mind all that

for now I walk a path where Pirates cannot dwell

a spinning compass

course unknown

and yet I am all set to sail




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