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,

Withering grass of this season
with your abundance of green,
take advantage of Today -
Contribute to this Earthly scene.

Enjoy your present strength;
ignore worries of the past.
Let the distant failures fade
and let sweeter memories last.

Be true to yourself always,
standing tall and strong.
Focus on your own meadows and...
Learn to hum to Life's song.

Author Note:

Nights spent working
lost in thoughts
Distraught and lonely.

Never any ambitions
Longing for you
Hiding all emotion.

Forgotten by friends
Invisible wounds bleed
Drowning by isolation.

Congestion of heart
Distinction of solitude
Tears flowing downward.

Doors close to us at every turn,
And others open so we learn.
Not a simultaneous event.
A good portion of our time thus spent,
In life's hallways near and far,
Looking for the door ajar.

Heavenly sovereign
Almighty rightfully rules
Earthly citizen.

Terrene rulership struggle
Blue, red fight for sovereignty

They lost their belief
Because they refuse to see
The goodness inside

Walk now with purest feelings
Of Unconditional love

Till time comes we meet
Those gone before us again
On heavenly grounds

One nation many faces
Come together under God

Snow circles windows
A painting of dawn relief
Night comes in quarters

Hopes and fears come dancing
within the deep of night.
Upon the stage of dreams they play
and disappear by light.
At times as unknown characters
their lines of script are read.
At others, friends and family
in scenes of joy or dread.

Sometimes recalling what was seen
when comes the waking hour.
But most remain obscure by day
without sleeps magic power.
Attempts made at remembering
a futile task at best.
So racking of the consciousness
is quickly put to rest.

Vomit spewing everywhere,
On her face and in her hair
Pretty girl of yesteryear
Dead drunk

Angry man at passing station
Does he represent the nation?
Fights his friend of yesteryear
Dead drunk

Unable to stand upright
rowdy reveller of the night
Damaged liver from yesteryear
Dead drunk

Singing loudly, beer in hand
Unconscious to their fellow man
Enforced ASBO yesteryear
Dead drunk

I live in the spirtworld..
Where wrath of time
Is prose impearled

Take my pen and paint your shore
Sixteen pence
Is twice two four

Commence your golden shaded lore
And shape my words
To tend no more

Into a new dark age
we go, marching,
careening headlong

[of soapbox poetry
there is no want
for many a voice
loudly rail and rant]

the terrain of our
condition and that
of our experience
has changed over
year upon year of
progress that has brought
us closer to the edge
of a generation that
lives on the horizon

itself

peering further on

beyond

to challenges invisible
to our yet untrained minds

Rose petals sit still,

Driven by the summer breeze,

Only stopping for clouds and you.

Your beauty stands still, freezing time and there after

Your love stands still.

Alone,

Never to be challenged nor minimized,

And while you never falsely advertise,

I still ask, How did i get so lucky?

I used to dream about love, and those dreams could not touch this surface.

Just to think of you, Humbles me, as you are unequaled and supassed only by God himself.

Your love is real...

Really real..