Compass

on by
 
Certainty is a spectre…
 
Certainty is a diagram that mocks the beauty of chaos,
an anchor in mid air, a stab on the back of the Water Dragon.
 Certainty is a hammer that levels all who think it’s real,
a beacon of fear, the Herald of Dispair.
 Certainty is the cradle of self-victimization,
a fortress of pillows full of feathers with thorns.
 Certainty is the mask of infallible quality,
the cloth of inhumanity, the catalyst of sterility.
 
Certainty is not the map, it’s the labyrinth…
 
Certainty is the ink that stained the fields of possibility with black strokes,
taming the inner compass, the wild horse that is our heart.
 Certainty is the blade that severed our wings;
wings we were born with to soar through the sky, the limitless blue.
 Certainty is the chain that brought us to our knees
to beg for what is already ours, the choice to be free.