Old Maps

The map hangs on the wall, 
a piece of history 
more than the guide it once was, 
Borders and places change
and before long little remains
save memories, 
and even those are vague, 
less sure as time passes, 

like love long past, 
it causes you to question 
even the newest maps, 
wondering what change far beyond your power
will rewrite your life this day
or the next. 

Why then keep this bit of paper, 
no longer useful as a pathfinder? 
Why preserve the memory of nations and states
of being that no longer exist? 
Are there paths to be found in the past, 
or at least

the warning of chasms and rivers
that block your way, for
no matter where the lines are drawn, 
nature exists, your nature and the nature of the land
less changed
than borders and names. 

About this poem

We all keep old maps, whether they are of places, or charts of our hearts. They tell history more than the future, but they have value none the less. 

Tom