A Map You Cannot Read

The plaque, cast iron and painted blue,
is nailed to the temple walls.
You cannot read the words from half way around the earth.
You assume they are holy and you stand,
reading them, not for words, but for the age,
for the feeling of holiness that sweeps over you
as you stand at the edge of the temple.
For all you know it could read “Keep off the grass.”,
but you feel something else, a wisdom,
a promise, a glorification; something worth pondering
if only with your heart.

That works for you. You are a creature of the heart,
despite a mind that sees not broadly but deep.
Despite a difficulty in words to express that heart.
It is still what drives you, It is what moves you
and so worship comes without thought.
Love comes without thought. It is only later
when soaked in the emotion, that you can put words to it
or explain it, even to yourself,
much less to anyone else who might be listening.
THis makes you a poor guide,
your heart on your sleeve, like a map
you have found, but can not read
until tomorrow.

About this poem.

I am slow to process feelings, You regular readers know this. Despite that, it is emotion that serves as my compass, more times than not. The combination makes for an interesting journey. Sometimes wise. Sometimes less so. But always interesting.

A poem about faith. A poem about love. A poem about all the things that truly matter.

The picture was taken at a place called Asia Burano in Great Barrington, Mass.

Tom