Poem: Cartography of the Unseen

I have walked the long interior roads—
the ones without signposts,
paved in questions older than breath.

At dawn, the sky opens like an unanswered letter,
and light spills across the mind
the way certainty never does.

I kneel before quiet things:
the pulse inside a stone,
the patient grammar of trees,
the silence that keeps its promises.

Every truth I grasp dissolves—
a moth’s wing turning to dust—
yet its disappearance teaches me
the weight of what cannot be held.

I have listened for God
in the echo of my own footsteps,
in the pause between two thoughts,
in the ordinary miracle
of remaining unfinished.

What I know is this:
the soul is not a destination
but a compass trembling toward wonder,
and the path to meaning
is traced in circles,
each loop drawing me closer
to the center I can never reach—
yet somehow,
must keep searching for.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie