If I were Frost, I would walk the less-traveled path.
If I were Thoreau, I would go and live deliberately.
If I were Basho, I would travel the narrow road.
If I were Eliot, I would seek out muttering retreats.
But I cannot.
I am not a wanderer.
I am fixed in place.
I accept this fate.
And so I sit and brood.
I conjure up a mood.
I sink within my recollections
Which I sort; I file; I excise.
And while my mind takes its time,
Past conversations rise like yeast,
Warming on the breadboard of my memory
Waiting to be worked and folded and cut.
I know this process as my hands know dough.
I punch out the air; I roll; I stretch; I braid.
I create the shape I wish the loaf to take,
But I must wait for it to reach the proper state.
Baking requires patience.
So does insight.
Thoughts must be sifted.
Reason must be leavened.
Emotions must be allowed to rise
And then be knocked back.
And so within my domestic routine
I will leave room for my soul to breathe
So that in its own time, in its own way
It will release me from its present pain.
If I wait,
If I am still,
If I do not try to hasten the process
If I do not try to escape its pangs
I may come out of this slightly wiser.
Beautiful soliloquy in the form of a verse. Serious thinking f for exploring various options for achievement of remarkable things along with minutest details of planning increase the depth of the poem while the first stanza itself takes it to a great level. Thanks for sharing.10++
If I were Frost, I would walk the less-traveled path...Really very amazing expression shared here with wise love. Nicely penned..10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
breadboard of my memory is a cool image, suzanne, and thematically consistent with the venue of home you've pictured. -glen