The map is torn, the compass…

The map is torn, the compass needle spins,
The familiar routes now fade from weary sight.
A wilderness where my true journey begins,
Bathed in the moon's uncertain, silver light.
The old paths blur, the signposts disappear,
A thrilling terror, sharp and clean and new.
I cast aside all doubt, all nagging fear,
And trust the stars to guide me, strong and true