A Strange Message

Train of thought, God I've been up too long...

People like to speak of the heart,
They think they know the soul.
Use words like love and salvation,
Waste words like dark and empty.

Somehow, I have no heart to speak of.
What I have is a strange little box.
It rattles, full of pasts and futures,
It is locked, against what harms?

Where this soul is, I don’t know.
In me lays a well worn out map.
Old and creased with much usage,
It still tries to tell me where to go.

I think I saw love once upon a time.
It was on its way somewhere, fast.
Its cousin, compassion still visits,
But regret is the only one who stays.

Salvation, didn’t God misplace that?
Penance on Earth was right at home.
Forgiveness is quiet but it still tries,
And Mercy is always out of stock.

If I knew anything it was the dark.
The quiet, cool expanses stretched.
Visionary time, holding everything,
And holding nothing for all its claims.

Maybe I still need time to travel.
Wander far with that soiled map.
Pace tune kept by the clattering box,
And feet moving towards the unseen.

Author's Note

Comments, crits, all welcome.