The Compass
poem by:
Tiana H
Written
on Jul 24, 2017
You get off of work late.
The frequent customer wanted what
they believed they deserved.
And since you are seemingly a servant,
you decided to put it in your own hands.
You feel weighted.
Each step you take feels
like bricks are tied to the soles of your shoes.
Sweat plasters your bangs on your forehead,
and you walk into the door looking for the couch
that will give you the gift of rested knees.
You sink into the cushions.
And you begin to think about the clock quietly ticking by.
You are tired, but you have an ounce of energy to
close your eyes without falling completely asleep.
And you think.
They say that scientists cannot even figure out
why the compass will point north by default.
People say the reason is that Heaven is north of the planet
and the compass is supposed to draw you near Heaven without force, just ease.
Heaven simply hints at the direction toward nirvana;
we just need to pay attention to the simple device.
Just pay attention to what is right in front of us.
Right now you don’t know your direction.
You don’t even know how to pay the rent.
But you wonder.
If you paid attention to the compass inside your thumping heart,
pointing toward the drive that kept your feet moving up and down
and if you managed to open your chest
that is a torch of fire yearning to taste freedom,
then maybe
you can find your Heaven.
