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Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)
The Road Not Taken
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,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Read poems about / on: travel, sorry
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My favourite piece of poetry in the entire universe.
excellent poem.......but i have written ''the roads i killed ''......but a bit different.
Ah- - Mazzzzzzzzinnnnnnnnng.
How can he reach that conclusion, after making his decision in confusion, and choosing one road, with his clever little ode, knowledge of the other was just delusion
Sometimes I hate you
I can't forget
Are there ruins left
I cherish
A dream stronger than a feeling
I persist
God has made it happen
I am gladly obsessed
Moved by isolation
Together we are changed
Why did you leave
We can make more words
Such a silly thought is love
as we define unspeakable things
like the beauty of turtle doves
or what exactly what they're feeling
To say I don't would be a lie
hiding lost feelings of joy,
a sin like this, I'd surely die
don't play with love, it's not a toy
and death do us part, but not at heart
the words I love you strung
amidst the foggy darkness that tries
tries to rip us apart
such a silly thought is love
a memory
a feeling
deep down inside
I need your love
-Voiceless (._.)
Thats for me full of joy and regret: |
wow people seem to hate aussies and wogs, wow racism much.....
im aussie/wog, HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!
Poop
poop is such a relief to do
getting rid of all the crap in you
food in your mouth
shit out your south
the cycle relentessly continue
whether many or a few
turds in you
eject easily or slowly drag thru
daily it's the same
as your bowels proclaim
'once again the shit is due! '
this poem isn't profound
about that lovely brown mound
some in fact will think it crap
and i humbly agree
with all that's bottled up
inside me