Poems

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there,
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

– The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost (1874–1963)

A flash went by so quickly
I don’t know what it was
It took away the light
And closed so many doors

A vacuum appeared beside me
So near yet so far
I can only look at it
And be reminded of the scars

Swishing emptiness;
That’s all it’ll be
I have lost the heart
To find my destiny

Armor battered and sweat-stained
Sword still firmly in hand
The cold wind gusts

No one is around anymore

Shivers chill his spine
Yet he moves on
Still searching for meaning

Lone crows fly ahead
Towards the unknown
He follows them;
For he is alone

An old tree
“Welcome”, it says
You are home