Uncharted Dreams

In a drawer lies a map, its creases like veins,

a canvas of places that lived in my brains.

Each line a promise, a path that I’ve missed,

a longing for journeys that echo and twist.

Fingers trace borders, my heart beats in time,

dreams of the valleys where I could still climb.

The dust on the paper tells stories untold,

whispers of ventures, adventures of old.

But here I am anchored, my spirit confined,

with maps full of longing and places unkind.

The weight of desire hangs heavy as stone,

a cartographer's dreams in a world made of bone.