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The Map
By
Elizabeth Maua Taylor
Short lines of worries over a defiant child,
Long, horizontal lines filled with new questions,
The creases and folds of wisdom and folly,
Dark circles of frequent, fevered, sleepless nights;
Three lines merging into one near your eyes
That deepen when you smile and when you cry,
Valleys of tear tracks where you lost your beloved,
Tiny, numerous, encircling shy ridges,
Molded by the giving of a soothing kiss,
Crisscrossing lines of laughter and heartache,
Faint lines just begun, deep lines long established.
Lines marked to trace life's night into morning,
Lines prove the past, mark today, point beyond.
Mapping their course that's lived hard and fought true,
Leading the pathway straight homeward to you.
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