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North American Dreaming: Broken Compasses

Even in the best of men the moral compass can be broken. But compasses can be repaired, as William Burkholder's poem reveals.

Please do visit Bill's well-stocked Web site http://www.freewebs.com/nirvanasgate/index.htm

Broken compasses,
Smashed and destroyed.
Unwontedly,
Unknowingly,
Life's navigation hindered.
I carry guilt of
Such barbarous acts.
My compass rose,
The lens just as fogged.
Cracks in surface,
Depleted sight,
Clearly,
A fool’s journey.
The piper
Now being paid in full.
To what end
My attempts to repair?
Fate shall tell the tale.
And my conscience
Will continue to bleed.
Excuses abound
For cause and effect.
Lack of love,
Abundance of neglect.
All shallow answers,
Off the charted mark,
High and dry,
Aground,
In stark reality of selfish
Inhumane acts.
Back on course,
Track lines set,
Check for deviation,
Forgive and reset.
Horizon bound for safety,
In life's wisdom learned,
Tis the folly and my regret,
Of these bridges burned.


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