Where I want to be seems so far away
The path invisible to the naked eye
Unknown landmines buried deep
The road thus far has been winding indeed
The distance from point A and B appears short
But the circles and explosions and unspeakables
Have lengthened the journey
I wish to see clearly the path laid out before me
How can I get there?
Must I fly above, dig and crawl, swivel and dance?
Tell me how, show me now, let me know
And I will happily go.
What bridges do I cross,
Which ones do I burn?
A bird flying high(er) looks down at the earth below
Who is to say?
Is the path already known?
Is it written with each singular step?
Is it set in stone or can it be erased and rerouted?
The distance from point B to C seems so far
But maybe, that’s a deceptive mirage
Maybe, just maybe.. to C is to
Look right here, just ahead
Maybe, just maybe to C is to B(e)
Maybe, just maybe, where I want to be
Is already here inside of me.
Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson regarding maps.
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