Not Without Your Compass 

A reupload of Not Without Your Compass with a slight change.
Poem:
Not without your compass
I walk over to the water.
Settles at my approach,
The old riviera.
Red rock just beneath the kelp,
Held in place, weeds hands wrapped around
Those stones and stayed to sway,
Despite the current.
The recent news is nothing new.
Another building's swept away.
It happens all the time.
It happens all the time
I have to keep my sight straight
And not get lost in all the waves,
Melded in lake-beds or melted into floorboards.
There's so much all on your walls
And crickets in your ears,
Seemed "the quiet kind of noise," then does it?
Seemed your place to say,
"The quiet kind of noise"?
I stole your compass from your bedside
And I've got no plans of giving it back.
I stole your compass.
And I don't want to give it back.