Cartographer
i cannot see where the road will lead
i am not certain i wish to walk upon it
yet i find myself drawn forward,
wishing to know the unknown
if only i could telescope the future
if only i could behold the imperceptible
yet i cannot
and i find myself perturbed
i cannot see where the road will lead
but i can, and do, often wonder
under what trees will this road twist
through what fields will it silently slice?
i cannot see where the road will lead
all i can do is walk it
alone, perhaps, then again perhaps not
i am not so bold as to extend a spoken invitation
i cannot promise where the road will go
i cannot say what sights will be seen
i cannot know the future, i cannot see the unseen
all i can do is walk the road
one step after another
the gravel crunching under my feet
the tree branches waving overhead
the fields opening before me, plains unending
alone perhaps
perhaps not
an unspoken question
hangs in the air
and i find myself unable to ask it
for fear of what it might mean
implications unending, complications ensue
longing for a state space transition, but that would never do
i cannot see
i cannot promise
i cannot know
i cannot say
i am a cartographer
mapping an unknown land
and here it is i begin
upon this gravel road
i have a pen
and a paper
one black
the other white
and all i can draw
is a single solitary dot
round and dark upon the page
and label it, 'Here'
that is all i know
here is where i am
the road beckons
do i walk it?
i know not whither it leads
i know not so much
i know i like not not knowing
i know i am here
but that is all i know
a solitary dot
round and dark upon the page
a tear of ink, splattered
a cartographer lost
in an unknown land
standing upon a road
leading somewhere
the gravel winding out of sight
the trees huddle over me
the fields still their swaying
as here i stand, upon the road
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