Herein lies the third poem in my series The Compass Poems, a short set of poems based on my ten-year fascination with the four cardinal points on the compass. I'm not entirely sure whence this interest stems, but it is entirely adventurous in my mind -- dealing with quests, royalty, mystery, myth, and age beyond reckoning. Maybe my own fascination with the compass is like that: old beyond reckoning, coming from some myth I can hardly define, much less identify. These poems are not based on any stereotype that has roots in our world -- in fact, this one is heavily influenced by Tolkien. May it be a reminder of the other world that we're all made for.

The Compass Poems

It’s the old and the new.
The ancient and the young.
At once it both fades and comes back to life,
Ablaze in gold and silver light.

Walking in the forest, you can hear it:
The whispers of those who have seen much.
You can smell the mustiness of age.
You can feel the depth of years in your fingertips.
But you can also hear the singing,
Discern the rhythm of the dance from afar off.
You feel the fire of eternal youth burn as it goes down your throat.

You are far from everything you have ever known —
And yet, somehow simultaneously,
You are more home than you have ever been.

You feel the smallness of your being in comparison to the might of the Great Ones.
You would shrink away in fear if it were not for the swelling of your heart that tells you the truth —
This is what you’ve been longing for your whole life.

This is what you were made for.

Suddenly you know where the craving was born.
It comes from here.

Is this what Heaven feels like? Looks like? Smells like?

You don’t know whether to weep or laugh or dance or bow —
Or simply sit in stillness and stare at it the whole time.
It’s too beautiful and wonderful for words.

The mystery of myth come to life — 
It’s true, it’s all true,
All the stories you ever heard,
and more besides.